Warp Element
by Sebra
Summary: Terry's latest escapade has taken him way in over his head, and cost him his memory. Thrown back sixty years into the past, he must deal with the Bat Clan of old Gotham while attempting to recover a future he doesn't even remember.
1. Departure

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman Beyond or any of the referenced story lines or characters therein.

Author's Note: A story that I removed long ago without being finished. Perhaps this time I'll make it all the way through. I have made changes to the story line in preparing to re-post, so if you remember the tale from before, things will be slightly different this time around. Enjoy. :)

Batman's latest escapade has taken him way in over his head, and cost him his memory, as well as his life as he knows it. To the people who know him well, it simply looks like he's disappeared into thin air, but to Terry – who can't even recall his own name – life seems to have backtracked about sixty years. The young man finds refuge with Batman, Nightwing, Batgirl and Robin, while trying to sort out his own past. At the same time, though, the future is in jeopardy without him, as a man named Connor vows to put his master plan in to action, despite the problems his time-space warp drive has already caused. Time is becoming fluid, and it seems Terry's very existence is threatened. The young man must regain his memory and avoid causing any rifts, while in the future Bruce and Max struggle to stop the mastermind behind McGinnis' disappearance, and bring the boy back. But will Terry have enough time to save the past before they bring him back to a future where he doesn't exist?

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><p>Warp Element<p>

Departure

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><p>Connor pulled another slide switch into place, plugging the last red wire into its thin socket, and stepping back, quite satisfied with himself.<p>

"Um…boss…?" Jack, a large muscle-bound man, entered the back room of the mansion tentatively. "Shouldn't we be getting going? The police will be here any moment…"

Connor stood, wiping his grease-covered hands over his wiry frame, smiling comfortingly at the large guard. "No, we're fine." He nodded. "We have time on our side." He winked at his protector, who nodded, still feeling slightly on edge.

"Oh, stop it." A woman, about as grease covered as her boyfriend, stepped out from behind the large machine they were adjusting, wiping her dirty face on her apron and combing her oil-darkened fingers through her mussed brown hair. "Connor, that's totally enough with the time jokes." She rolled her bright green eyes, a smile resting lightly on her lips. "We all know what you've designed, now lets get it done before time decides to be fickle and change sides, shall we?"

Jack nodded heartily, crossing his arms over his bulky chest.

Connor chuckled, tossing a lock of golden hair from his own brown eyes, and kissing her gently on that flickering smile. She blinked, giggling.

"Too late." A voice from overhead growled, and the lovers looked up, Connor's easy-going smile devolving into an evil scowl. He was here. "Batman." He hissed. "Eva, finish the interior cybernetics. Jack and I will deal with this pest." Those beautiful green eyes sparked with anticipation, but she nodded calmly, grabbing a wrench and doing as she was told.

Connor scanned the ceiling, noting Jack's rigid posture. "You okay, Jack?" He asked.

"Just fine, Boss." Came the confident reply. "Droves of police may be a little tough, but one Bat, I can handle."

"A little overconfident, now, don't you think?" The voice from overhead snickered. "I've taken down guys way bigger than you."

Connor and Jack exchanged a knowing glance. "Perhaps." Connor smiled, speaking to the ceiling. "But its not always size that matters, is it?"

With that, Batman struck, moving for Connor first. The black clad demon fell upon the mechanic like a blood-crazed vampire, but suddenly found himself flung across the room to slam painfully into a wall. He groaned, slumping down onto the plush carpet beneath him, resisting the urge to sneeze as the drywall rained down upon him. Rising from the floor on his hands and knees, he peered suspiciously at the man referred to as Connor. "What the hell?" He coughed, spitting blood. That had HURT. The little wiry dude had done that?

Connor clucked in admonishment with his tongue. "Tsk, tsk, Batman. You really should know a little bit more about your opponents before you dive in like that. I'm the strong man here." He looked over to Jack, who was smiling. "A little bit cliche. But Jack, on the other hand… has a very unique talent."

As if on cue from his boss, the large man stepped forward, his dark eyes flared a flaming violet color. A strange energy began to gather around him. Batman barely had time to swear before the strange force enveloped him. "Oh, s-" The vigilante found himself crying out in pain, encased in a suffocating bonfire of amethyst rage, the tongues of flame burning and tearing at his costume as if they were vengeful spirits out to kill him. The fire reached in through his suit, lancing up his skin, pricking in through his pores and searing through his veins. Slowly, the blaze spread throughout his entire body, leaving him screaming, convulsing as it tore with invisible claws at the very essence of his being, digging painfully into corners of his consciousness he didn't even know he had. As Jack withdrew, it was almost as painful as the invasion, as the tendrils of energy ripped themselves free without a thought to Batman's comfort, leaving him in a shuddering heap on the floor. He had only endured a few seconds of the searing pain, but it felt as if he had been lying there for hours, agonizing beneath the bodyguard's sway.

Jack chuckled openly, delighting in the freedom to use his inimitable skill. As he smiled, he revealed fangs where normal incisors would be. Batman shuddered, curling in on himself, trying to get his mind and body functioning again, with little success. Jack could now feel Batman's life energy pulsing through his own veins, the very core of who the boy was, now empowering the large man. He could feel his strength swelling slightly, his confidence rising. Whoever the Batman was had quite a spirit. This would be a meal to relish. He flexed his bulky arms, and cracked the bones in his neck with some satisfaction. He was slightly rusty. He hadn't devoured a good soul in quite some time. Most these days were shriveled with greed and self-centered ideals, but Batman was actually a worthwhile delicacy.

Jack's powers came quite in handy a lot of the time, easily being able to immobilize attackers of the trio within seconds, but the problem was that he could only drain one life at a time. It didn't matter how much he trained to expand his strength and finesse, he could never stretch the amount of people he could immobilize at once – only the amount of time it took. It used to be that he'd need five hours to completely kill a person, but over the years, he'd beat that time down to an extremely efficient three minutes. But maybe with Batman he'd savor the life force a little longer… cause a little more agony. Back when it had taken him five hours to drain elan vital, every moment for his victim had become agonizing, and they died of the pain and mental strain long before he'd even completely sucked them dry. Now, though, he could enjoy watching every moment of their lives slip from their clutches like water. Yes, this existence he'd save, toy with a little more. It was rich and wholesome, a noble one. Jack sneered. Noble or not, its end was near. Batman was a worthless bug in the long run after all, slated for termination. They had no reason to keep him around.

His eyes flickered violet again, but before he could go back to work on Batman's spirit, Connor laid a gentle hand on his bodyguard's shoulder. "It's all right, Jack, I have different plans for him. He's going to help us test our machine, here."

Batman wheezed a painful breath, rolling over and coughing, spluttering crimson blood all over the designer flooring. Connor rolled his eyes. "Pitiful."

Jack nodded, turning away from his prey with some disappointment, but honoring Connor's wishes. "That's fine with me, Boss." The man backed down, tame as a puppy dog again, looking as demure and innocent as a five-year-old with an ice cream cone in the park. His fangs were hidden behind a kind smile, and his eyes were again dark, dull and blank.

Connor smiled. "Thank you, Jack. I'll find you another meal later, okay?"

Jack nodded again, an angelic expression of elation claiming his features. Even though he wasn't that hungry, the thought of having another plaything was rather enjoyable. Batman moaned, attempting to get up, but his limbs still felt like jelly underneath him. Stiffness refused to relent its hold on him, and he was still feeling the lingering aftertaste of whatever it was the large guy had done to him. He saw Jack's visage turn sour again, and stopped moving as the man's eyes flashed purple. He really didn't want whatever he had done to happen again. It hurt, like his soul was being ripped out of him, like he was dying ten times over as he laid there, helpless and paralyzed, unable to defend himself. Fire flickered in his limbs, and he let himself back down to the floor, nausea swirling in his stomach, a pounding headache causing unrelenting pressure in his skull.

_"__Terry?__ Terry,__ are __you __alright?__"_ Bruce's voice cut in over the com-link, a tinge of what Batman supposed was worry and care laced with an irritated rushed feeling.

"Peachy." The teenager hissed between clenched teeth, in a voice so low only Bruce could hear it. "I'm only half dead."

_"__Which __means__ you__'__re__ half__ alive. __You__'__ll__ be__ fine.__" _If Wayne was trying to be comforting, he was failing miserably.

"I always thought you were a glass half empty kind of guy, Bruce." Batman replied sullenly. At this point, he almost wanted a little bit of pity from the old man, but knew he wouldn't receive it. He positioned his palms beneath his chest in preparation to push himself back into action against these creeps. He wasn't exactly sure what they were up to, but anyone who opposed Batman wasn't doing any good.

_"__Only __when __it__ suits__ me.__"_

Batman grumbled under his breath. Of course, Bruce would have no optimism on anything until his protege was lying on the floor 'half alive'. Then we'd be optimistic. Right.

"Have any clue what that machine is?" He whispered, stalling as much as possible to regain his strength. Jack kept a keen eye trained on him, though, and he shivered under the guard's sharp gaze.

_"__I __haven__'__t__ figured__ that__ out__ yet,__ but __I__don__'__t __really __want __to__ wait__ and __find __out. __Just __unplug __it__ and __ask__ questions __later.__"_

That was rather uncharacteristic of his mentor, but Terry decided there were all kinds of situations – the kind you stepped into knowing what you were up against, and the kind you bungled into and hoped you made it out alive and destroyed the right things. This one was the latter. Taking a deep breath, Batman gathered all of his remaining strength, and relying heavily on the suit's physical amplifiers, whirled back into action faster than Jack had expected. The big man received two heels to the jaw, his neck snapping backward as he stumbled, falling over in a dazed heap. Batman landed back on his feet, hoping that would be enough to keep the life-leech down for now.

Connor turned to face the rodent, sighing in irritation, but not looking the least bit threatened. "Eva, darling, are you almost done?"

"Just another minute more, Connor…" A voice could be heard from somewhere behind the machine, and Batman's gaze flicked there, trying to find the source.

"Alright. I can hold our flying rat off until then." The mastermind heard the howl of police sirens in the distance. So perhaps breaking into the Powers' abandoned homestead hadn't been the best idea in the world, but then, it was the mansion with the second largest supply of power in the entire city, and unlike the Wayne Mansion, didn't have people living in it. So between largest power supply and second…he'd had to go with second. The 'abandoned' part was simply too enticing. But then, even abandoned things seemed to have alarms, as had become apparent when they'd broke in and whistles had begun screaming at them. But if one wanted to change the world, one had to take risks. So here he was, with his girlfriend and their strange bodyguard, fending off the Batman and anticipating the incoming police while they attempted to hook their machine up to the power grid. They'd be ready when the police came, though. They'd be safe by then if the machine were online.

Batman stood, breathing heavily, still extremely worn out from Jack's onslaught of violet hell. Connor smirked at him. "Alright, Batman, now you face me. Less original, perhaps, but just as deadly."

"Joy." Batman grumbled, and then sprinted at the man – the last blockade between him and the mysterious machine. If he could get rid of Connor, he'd be home free. But then, that was easier said than done. Connor raised a single, wiry arm, swatting the vigilante aside like a fly. He'd struck the Tomorrow Knight firmly in the gut, and the vigilante leaned forward, clutching at his stomach as he skidded backward on the balls of his feet, regaining his balance with the fingertips of his free hand sliding along the flooring. A set scowl morphed his mask as he realized that Connor was impassible. This man was simply too quick and too strong to be defeated by head-on tactics. Instead, he'd just have to work around him. The black-clad hero moved into a painful sprint again, but faked his opponent out, running straight for him, and then twisting into position, with his batarang launchers aimed skillfully at a clump of rather important looking multicolored wires.

Connor cried out in dismay, and Batman's suspicions were confirmed. "NO!" The man shouted, caught off guard. His fingers brushed a lamp on an end table nearby, and he gripped the smooth porcelain, hurling the heavy appliance at Batman, who flinched, missing his target as the lamp shattered against his skull. The batarangs, stray of their target, settled deeply into the thick, plush carpeting.

"I hope you're done, Eva!" Connor called, swirling around to a position at the control panel, determined to get rid of the Bat before he caused any more trouble. If Jack's few seconds of leeching hadn't kept the Dark Knight down that long, than nothing other than killing him would. They needed to act NOW. They needed a live subject to track.

"READY!" The woman confirmed shakily, an out of sight panel slamming shut. "All set!"

Batman shook his head, dazed from his cranium being jarred with a heavy lamp, but stumbled back into action anyway, trying to focus his vision on the seeming mastermind of this strange plot. Connor noticed the swaying movement, and took advantage of the stunned vigilante. The strength-endowed meta-human pulled a syringe from his pocket, slamming the Batman into a wall and quickly injecting the concoction into the do-gooder's blood. The dark hero shoved Connor away with a powerful kick, pulling the empty needle from his arm, but the mutant moved away despite him, sprinting back to the control panel and flipping one final switch. Batman stepped away from the wall, bleary eyes searching for Connor. What had the freak just put in his blood stream? What switch had he just flipped? Would dinner taste as good the second time around? Yeah, he liked his mom's cooking, but not that much.

Batman groaned, falling down on one knee as a strange hum of power overtook him, and nausea washed over him like an ocean. Vigilante and villain turned to face each other as the entire house sparked to life at the surge of power the machine began to pull in. The white eyes of the mask widened in horror as the humming lights began to roar, and filaments exploded under the unexpected high voltage. The entire house shuddered as a shock-wave vibrated through the air, throwing Batman off balance and careening across the floor, skidding on his shoulder. He collided rather painfully with a wall, his head slamming into the concrete with a sickening crack. Vaguely in the distance, he heard a voice calling his name…

_"__Terry? __TERRY!__"_

...And then everything went black.

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><p>Connor coughed, waving a hand in front of his face, trying to get the dust out of his mouth and nose. That had been particularly disastrous. He hadn't expected feedback like that from the power surge it took to run the machine. "Eva?" He wheezed, and he heard coughing to match his own. The room was pitch dark, and he couldn't see a thing.<p>

"Connor, I'm here…" She moaned. "I think I broke something, though."

"Where are you, Darling? I can't see."

"Um…over here? I'm not exactly sure. What happened to Batman?"

Connor sighed. "Jack, if you're conscious and don't mind too terribly, do you mind lending some…" Before he was even able to finish his sentence, a glowing violet light flared to life off to his left, and the large, luminescent man rose, separating himself from a small pile of rubble. Connor smiled appreciatively. "Batman's life force is conveniently bright." He commented.

Jack nodded. "He's young, healthy. He has a lot of energy, and is fueled by very honorable intentions. He's a rare pure soul."

Connor nodded thoughtfully, committing Jack's examination of the vigilante to memory. Batman was a determined one, then. Depending on exactly what had happened when he hastily activated his project, the Bat may still be a threat.

"Eva, baby, can you move at all? Show us where you are."

"Here." A small movement of a slender arm off beyond the machine brought Jack and Connor rushing, and they found her under part of the collapsed ceiling, her legs trapped and out of sight. "It hurts." She complained, supporting her upper body with her elbows. "Can you get this off of me?" Connor easily cleared the rubble from his girlfriend's pained form, and ran his hands gently along her leg. "Yes." He nodded, pursing his lips into a thin, straight line. "There is a break. We'll have to get you a splint. Just this one, or does the other hurt as well?"

Eva shook her head. "No, just that one."

"Will you be able to shift at all?" Connor asked worriedly.

"No…" Eva confessed. "Our little power trio may be a duo for now. I don't know what shifting would do to the broken bone – it's most likely unhealthy, and I'd rather not test it."

Connor's eyebrows knit together. "Perfectly understandable. But no matter." He stood, glancing around, scanning their dusty surroundings under the dull glow of Jack's projected life force. "Batman is taken care of, it seems."

"Where did you send him?" Eva asked.

A worried look crossed Connor's face. "That's the problem." He explained. "I didn't have time to accurately set the controls…" The thin man stepped cautiously over some of the debris; glad the air was clearing a bit. Particles like that weren't great for his asthma. He coughed quietly and scanned over the machine, checking the controls and sighing. The serum he'd injected Batman with was a rather special nanite concoction he'd designed not only to help his invention focus on the individual, as to make sure the correct specimen was being transferred, but to track them wherever they went. At least… 'wherever' had been the plan. But then, plans have the tendency to go awry… "Oh, no." He admonished himself.

"What?" Jack and Eva chorused, worry claiming their expressions as well. They were messing with dangerous elements here, and if Connor had said 'oh no' it could mean something to the effect of 'in an hour, the earth will no longer exist'. "What's 'oh no'?" Eva repeated as the silence stretched on.

"The controls." Connor whined. "Batman's still HERE within our vicinity, technically, but he's also sixty years or so into our past. This could be disastrous. If he's back there…that means he no longer exists here."

"But that's a good thing…right?" Eva asked.

"In the short term, yes. He disappears from our time line now, and never comes back. BUT…"

"But?" Jack asked, a thick eyebrow raised.

"But if he messes anything up BACK THERE… then none of this could exist NOW. If the space element had been properly activated, then we simply could have sent him elsewhere CURRENTLY and managed an escape ourselves…"

Eva's green eyes widened in horror, "But since all that affected him was the time warp, then he's liable to destroy the entire future – in essence, our present."

"It's a possibility." Connor swallowed, trying to relieve his dry throat. Nervousness crept in on him like a disease. "This really isn't good."

Police sirens cut into his thoughts again, and suddenly he realized that Batman was no longer his only problem. "Oh no." He said again. "This really isn't going the way I planned."


	2. Arrival

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman Beyond or any of the referenced story lines or characters therein.

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><p>Warp Element<p>

Arrival

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><p><strong>Backtracked<strong>

He groaned as he became conscious again, every limb feeling like it was being stabbed with pins and needles, prickling. He could barely make sense of his own consciousness. Noises swirled around him in a rather nonsensical succession for a few moments until his ears began functioning correctly again and he was able to pick out individual voices. He still couldn't seem to move, and instead, just lay there limp on his stomach, listening intently as he began to recover.

"That's impossible." The first voice was a child, skeptical.

"Nothing's impossible, Kid. I'm still working with this guy, aren't I?" The second voice was snide and sarcastic, with perhaps a tinge of cynicism. It was older than the first, but lighter and younger than the voice that came next.

This voice he recognized, but only slightly, and he couldn't put a name to the sound for the life of him. It spoke in a deep, dark tone, ignoring the comment of the second voice. "No, look at the marks along the walls, like a circle, rounding out from where he's laying. The explosion went out from him, almost like a force from a vertical landing."

"So… what are you saying then?" The child inquired.

The third voice mused again, and the prone form on the floor heard the sound of thick gloves gingerly tracing the walls. "It's almost like he was sent here – a warp if you will. The matter within the area of his arrival bent outwards, making room for him here. The marks on the wall are most likely from the outward expanding forces of pressure from accepting a foreign body that doesn't belong in the area."

The second – still snide – voice snorted. "Alright, we'll go with that then. But from where was he sent? And what the hell is he dressed as?"

A fourth voice joined in, practically as cynical as the second, but this one was feminine, albeit very strong, and much more playful. "Like you can talk. What the hell are you dressed as?"

"Not a bat, that's for sure."

"Well, you don't look much like a bird either, 'Nightwing'." The voice retorted in an amused manner.

Nightwing…? The form shifted, interrupting any reply that the acrobatic hero may have been concocting. That sounded familiar… he groaned again, and the four figures fell silent. He heard the shifting of feet, and a cape swirling lightly over the hard concrete floor. An object akin to paper fluttered in its wake. Trying to open his eyes, he found everything fuzzy, as if he were looking at it through dark, prescription sunglasses that were too powerful for his healthy vision. He moved, rolling over onto his back, hand reaching up to rub his eyes, but he found something in his way. A mask. He was wearing a mask. Why was he…? He still couldn't see, so he sat up gingerly, pulling the suffocating cloth off of his head. He blinked as lights blazed down upon him, squinting against the brightness. The four voices dropped from his mind as he scanned himself over. What the heck WAS he dressed as? Had that Nightwing character been talking about him?

He wore a full-body costume, jet-black and skintight but for a red bat emblazoned upon his chest. Wow. If that didn't scream 'gay', he wasn't quite sure what did. Why was he wearing this? He looked at the mask, his brain feeling like cotton balls in his head as he tried to remember. Nothing came to his mind, just a bunch of white fluff like TV static, and a headache. His skull was throbbing with a painful and steady pulse. Irritated at his lack of memory, he reached up to run a trembling hand through his hair. He brought it back to rest on his raised knees, and found it dripping blood. He gasped, eyes widening. He quickly reached back up to his skull, feeling tenderly along the edges of a large lump where a long cut pulsed blood. He'd certainly have bad bruising. He felt some of the dark, warm liquid drip down over his cheek in front of his ear.

Was that why he couldn't remember? Apparently, he'd taken a hard hit to the head. He closed his eyes, again struggling against the strange lack of information in his brain, but yet again, he was faced with that disconcerting and disorienting emptiness. Tantalizing tidbits of knowledge danced right beyond the fringes of his consciousness, but he couldn't quite seem to reach them. Every time he grasped further out in reach of some sort of confirmation of who he was or what he was doing here, the information just seemed to leap farther out of his grasp. Feeling frustrated, his pale blue eyes snapped open again, and he distracted his swelling irritation by taking stock of his surroundings.

He looked around cautiously, noting the scorched line around the wall, as if some explosive force had been detonated within the small, concrete room. Shadows shifted in the corners, and numerous dollar bills fluttered in the presence of some invisible wind. He reached down, grasping one in his clean hand and staring at it with inwardly slanting eyebrows. He was in a bank vault. How had he gotten here? He stood; leaning heavily upon the wall, leaving a bloody hand print from his black glove that had combed the crimson liquid from his hair. The vault door was cracked only an inch, but he could feel the presence of other beings, their eyes boring into him. Nervous, he replaced the mask. He'd known they were here anyway, he'd heard them speaking, but the feeling of nakedness that came without the mask was unbearable.

As his vision blurred and darkened again, he raised a hand by habit, pressing a small button he hadn't consciously realized was there. The lens of his visor cleared, letting him see in casual daytime vision. He pulled his hand back from the small controls under the pointed ear of his cowl, blinking at it for a second before reaching again for the controls. How had he known those were there? It was almost an instinct, moving as if the suit were an extension of his being. Apparently, he'd used it a lot in the past without having time to thoroughly think through his actions. He pressed the small switch again, and a strange, reddish tint came over the lenses – an infrared sensor. Scanning the room again, he found the four figures hiding silently where the shadows had been flickering. Impulsively, he flexed his right hand, and a foreign object came into it from the wrist launcher of the costume.

Surprised, he dropped the thing, and then knelt to pick it up again, finding the fit of the weapon strangely familiar in his hands. Though the object didn't exactly resemble a bat, he knew that was what the thin black and red metal symbolized. He ran his thumb lightly against the sharp edges, knowing that not only would this cut through flesh, but thin steel as well. The object was powerful, despite the fact he didn't even know what it was called. Imitating the motion he'd used before on impulse, the bat-like weapon retracted its wings, folding neatly into a slim, black body that he tucked into one of the belt pockets around his waist.

Quite at a loss of what to do next, he stood, staring through the infrared vision his visor so conveniently provided, eyes trained on the silent figures. "I know you're there." He whispered, but his voice sounded strange to his own ears, too deep and grim. Somehow, though, it seemed to fit, so he kept it up. The first shadow to separate itself was a large man in a black and gray costume comparable to his own, the black bat emblem and pointy ears on the cowl being the most similar attributes. The boy stood firm, sweeping his shoulders back defiantly, almost finding himself wishing that he was shrouded in a cape as well. That was pretty awesome, he had to admit. He found it harder to control his voice the second time around, and it almost cracked, breaking slightly free from his control. "What-" He cleared his throat. "What do you want from me?"

"I want to know what you think you're doing."

The deep voice was certainly one he recognized from earlier, and one that absolutely struck him as familiar, but he couldn't tell from where. The question to what he was doing was a good one as well. He opened his mouth to reply, but found his mind absolutely blank. What _was_ he doing here? "That's a good question." He finally replied, hesitant and unsure of himself. "I…don't know." He felt the small bit of personality that had clicked into place as correct slip away like sand through his fingers in his moment of panic. Why was he here? What had he been doing? Everything before the moment of his awakening was blank, he confirmed in utmost horror, and his gloved hand absentmindedly went to the wound bleeding under the mask. He'd been hit on the head, and apparently, the experience had cost him dearly. He couldn't remember a thing. At this point, the man who stood before him knew more about him than he did, for he wasn't even sure what he looked like.

The dark, caped figure shifted ever so slightly, and suddenly, the young man knew he had a weapon in hand. "I'm not here to hurt anybody." He assured in a thin voice, raising his arms in surrender. That was true enough, for now at least. Even if he _had_ been here to hurt somebody, he certainly didn't remember who, and wasn't in the mood right now anyway. He was trembling, scared out of his wits by his lack of knowledge. Was he a villain? Was he a hero? Though why a hero would be dressed like a demon in skintight underwear, he couldn't figure out. That was a less important question for a better day when he could actually remember his name. "Where am I?" He asked timidly, and the caped crusader relaxed a bit out of nothing more than sheer surprise.

"You really don't know." It was more a statement than a question, but still laced with grim incredulity. Finally, another figure detached itself from the darkness, a smaller version of the costumed man, but in black and blue instead of black and gray. Despite the fact that he had somewhat of a more slight stature, he was still extremely well built, muscles rippling from beneath his disguise. His face was grim, like his companion's, his eyes covered by a thin, black strip with white lenses fitting snuggly to the contours of his face. His costume was a little less skin-tight than that of his bulky cohort, fitting slimly to his figure, but also of an elastic material that was able to bend and flex with his lithe, acrobatic movements. The outfit was black from head to toe but for the blue design around his chest and shoulders, stretching down the outside of his arms and down onto his thick gloves. The gloves were balled into indignant fists as his biting glare shredded through the intruder.

"He's playing you." The figure hissed. "Something's not right about this guy."

"Yeah, because suddenly you're the one with a sixth sense, Nightwing?" The girl came out of the shadows as well, and feeling rather left out, the child followed, figuring if everyone else was going to reveal themselves, he might as well join in. "Give the guy a chance, he just looks really confused. Whose to say he's out to perform random acts of mayhem?" The one referred to as Nightwing glared at the girl, who was dressed much like the first man, but with touches of yellow in her costume, as well as her long, fiery red hair flowing glossy over her shoulders from the base of her neck. The young man was entirely different, his costume bright red and yellow, with splashes of black, and a bright 'R' embroidered into the left shoulder near his heart. The out-of-sorts stranger stared at them all, taking a slight step backward. "Leave me alone." He growled, feeling extremely overwhelmed. He should've known who these people were. A feeling grew inside of him that he'd seen them before, recognized each of them from somewhere… or at least, he recognized the costumes. The only person he could actually claim to know was the large man, the one who undoubtedly seemed to be the leader of this ragtag group of freaks. He shook his head, gritting his teeth. "Leave me alone. I didn't do anything!" At least, he didn't think he had.

The boy backed up another step, a look of interminable frustration coming over the mask. "None of you know me?" He asked, his panic rising, his breathing coming shallowly. "None of you can tell me where I am? Who I am? How I got here?" His voice rose to a pathetic and panicked yell, and the girl and the child in bright colors flinched slightly. The forsaken and confused teenager was trembling, feeling trapped. Some instinct deeply embedded within him urged him to fight, to escape, but he didn't. Instead, he poised his wrist, bringing it up level with the ground, and aiming at no one in particular, trying to maintain some semblance of calm and gain control of his nerves as well as the current situation. "I want to know what's going on!" He demanded, some note of insane pleading laced with his orders.

Nightwing's eyes were wide. "Dude, calm down. Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I don't know!" He spat. "I don't know…" His breathing began to come in short gasps, his chest heaving with even that simple effort. His hearing abated slightly to the strange muddled sensation he'd had when he'd begun to first wake up, his vision swimming before his eyes as the world began to spin. The big man took a step forward.

"What the hell is he doing?" Nightwing asked, though to the imposter, his voice sounded distant and liquid. His scowl deepened as the frightened newcomer turned his trembling batarang launcher on him.

"He's hyperventilating." The girl commented, and the launcher was next trained on her. "He's in shock. Back off, or he may…"

But it was too late. In a fit of adrenaline, confusion, and absolute fear of what was happening to him, the black and red clad stranger let fly the batarangs, and Nightwing cried out in dismay, leaping into action and tackling Batgirl to the floor as the sharp weapons sliced into the steel where her head and chest had been only milliseconds before. "Leave me alone!" The stranger yelled, feeling faint. At this point, though, it was too late to be left alone. His actions had marked him as hostile for the time being. The large man lunged for him with speed and grace almost impossible for his bulky, muscular frame, but the teenager took it in stride, reacting with skills he didn't even know he had. Surprising himself and everyone else in the room, he gave the man a hard slice to the jaw with his elbow, followed by a rather artistic roundhouse, and an acrobatic leap over the momentarily stunned man to escape out of the vault and burst through the front doors of the bank.

"I didn't do anything." He repeated, more to convince himself than anyone else. "I don't know why they won't believe me. I didn't do _anything!__"_

He leaped, raising his arms by instinct, just as he had done everything else so far, leaping upward at an extraordinary distance to let his height and motion sensitive jet-charged boots rocket into action. He knew the large man was only a fingertip's length behind him, but he let the strange suit carry him away into the night, those soulless white eyes staring after him from below.

Batman's eyes narrowed to the point where they were almost closed as he squinted, watching the orange glow of the heels of the young man's boots disappear into the velvet night sky. What kind of technology…? Piercing sirens cut into his thoughts, and he realized they'd have to act fast to cover their tracks. This was something that he didn't want Commissioner James Gordon to get his hands on. This was a teenager fraught with confusion and frustration, fighting as if Batman himself had trained him. This was something only Batman could deal with.

Turning on his heels, cape swirling lightly around his ankles, he reentered the vault, interrupting what seemed to be a very passionate argument between Batgirl and Nightwing.

"I can take care of myself, thank you." Barbara snapped, not wishing to be saved by the man she'd once loved, and had been rejected by. She didn't need his help.

"Fine. You're welcome. Doesn't matter that I just save your life!" Nightwing retorted, turning his back on her and crossing his arms as she dusted herself off.

"I can take care of myself!" She repeated. "And I can duck without your help. You flattened me!"

"Yeah, well its better than being sliced in two."

"Are you not _hearing_ a single word I'm saying?" Batgirl huffed. "I…"

"Stop it, both of you." Batman growled, striding between them and unceremoniously shoving them apart as he walked by, towards the bloody glove print on the back wall. Carefully removing a clean swab from his belt, he took a sample of the liquid to run tests on back in the cave, and then cleaned the handprint away, replacing everything in the vault exactly to how it was before they'd entered.

Nightwing scowled grumpily as Batman walked back out through the vault door again, disappearing into the darkness. Robin followed suit, somehow getting the impression that his mentor wasn't going to come back. "She started it." Nightwing mumbled, receiving an ungrateful smack upside the head from his former girlfriend. "Yeah." She hissed back. "And I'll finish it too, bird boy." She turned her chin up, walking past him and away, following Bruce.

Nightwing raised a doubtful eyebrow. "I'm sure you'll try." He muttered back, but she didn't hear, and he was left alone to finish the job, closing the vault door behind them and resetting the locks and alarms as if they'd never been there. He could do without Batman, but what would Batman do without him?

When the police finally arrived, all bats and birds had vacated the premises, and they found an empty and absolutely spotless crime scene where nothing had been stolen or misplaced. The vault looked as if it hadn't been opened in days, let alone broken into forcibly, so, scratching their heads, the Gotham PD simply left, filing a report about malfunctioning alarms, and alerting the owners of the bank later the next morning.

* * *

><p>He stood atop a skyscraper among a sea of buildings, the wind tearing at his figure as he ripped off his mask again, gasping for breath as the rain began to sprinkle into his face. He couldn't see past the clouds above, just as he couldn't see through that strange barrier that had formed in his mind, refusing to relent his past to him. He squinted his eyes closed, turning his face upward into the increasingly severe downpour, spreading his arms in a gesture of submission. The heavy droplets rolled off of his costume like water off of a mallard's feathers, but he wished it would take him. He wanted it to take him away from here, take him back to where he was supposed to be. Take him back to before his first moment of awareness in the foreign vault...<p>

But the rain just continued to fall, mindless of this form that mentally pleaded it to envelope him in some sense of memory and security. Some rivulets were tinged with red as the water cleared his black hair of matted blood, biting into the thin cut along the bruising mass of injury that was the right side of his head. His dark locks fell wet into his pale blue eyes, his strong, sharp features set interminably in intense irritation. Cars still sped along the streets far below him, but they weren't right. Nothing was. Everything seemed so out of place and surreal, as if he were in a completely different world than where he belonged. Nothing made sense, least of all his own personality. Who was he? Who was he supposed to be? What had he done to earn this fate?

He had nowhere to go to – no home, no family that he could remember, and no friends…

He couldn't even remember a letter of his name. For the moment, all he was seemed to be embodied in the costume he wore, and in the costumed figures that had triggered his strange nervous breakdown. He was calmer now, though, coming to terms with his condition. His mind ran at a slower pace, thinking logically.

The costume was all he had.

For now, that would have to be enough.


	3. Missing

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman Beyond or any of the referenced story lines or characters therein.

Author's Note: In reference to the reviews, thank you very much for all of your kind words. :) To answer a few questions -

Obliterator1519: Although I do not intend to bring Jason into the story, as he is not present in the animated series with which this is a crossover, I may reference him briefly if deemed necessary. I prefer to stay as canon as possible to the animated series from the nineties which I am referencing for this particular story, though I do put a few _comic_ canon twists in, like Nightwing's fighting style with eskrima sticks, and his more comic canon costume. So no, Jason will not be included. But yes, he may be mentioned. Concerning Terry and Barbara... While this is a very interesting idea, my plan is to stick with the common Terry and Dana pairing. Romance will be kept at a minimum due to Terry's predicament. In the end, though, outcomes will fit very nicely with the traditional Batman: The Animated Series, Justice League, and Batman Beyond story lines. :D

This Is Getting Old: Thank you. :) Honestly, I find the first chapter extremely boring as well... and I wrote it! I'm glad you enjoyed the second, though. I wasn't sure what reactions would be, and it's nice to get some positive feedback.

Rose Midnight Moonlight Black: Connor is _supposed_ to seem very sane and reasonable. He is a villain more akin to Ra's al Ghul or Lex Luthor... the analytical man of extraordinary, albeit twisted, vision. He believes he can improve the world, when really, he's only causing problems for it. Hopefully he will earn your respect in coming chapters. Let me know what you continue to think of him in the coming weeks, and thank you for your review! :)

Anonymous Person Who Left Two Comments On Chapter Two... (You Should Leave A Name Next Time): Thank you very much for your kind words! :P Dick and Barbara are very fun to write simply because of their tense relationship at this point in time. Also, I do not plan to focus on romance other than the occasional Bruce Wayne girlfriend that will parade herself through, and the traditional Terry and Dana, which, as I stated for Obliterator1519, won't be focused on too much due to Terry's current predicament.

* * *

><p>Warp Element<p>

Missing

* * *

><p><strong>Future-side<strong>

Connor sighed, working furiously and quickly adjusting switches to the correct coordinates, as the police sirens grew closer. "This is bad. This is so, so bad." He muttered, his hands shaking in his rush.

Eva, still lying where he and Jack had found her before, blinked up at him with liquid eyes, pouting slightly. "I'm sorry. I though I had hooked it up correctly…"

Connor resisted the urge to snap at her, instead taking a deep, steady breath that calmed the unusually irrational temper that fought for control of his actions at the moment. "Just…" He closed his eyes, taking another deep breath before explaining the situation. "Unfortunately, something isn't right with the machine." He announced to the only other two people in the room, reopening his eyes to find them staring at him intently, hanging heavily on his every word. "I'm not laying blame anywhere, for it could be in my design as well as in Eva's handiwork, I don't know. But for now, the 'time' element of our 'time-space' warp is out of commission." He slammed an irritated fist down on the malfunctioning controls. How ironic was it, that after thousands of years of evolution from primitive cavemen, human beings still believed that they could fix things by hitting them?

Unfortunately, nothing occurred to brighten the outlook of the future. All the powerful, wiry man had succeeded in doing was putting a rather unfortunate dent in the otherwise sleek contraption. This was worse than he ever could've imagined, for it meant that a crucial part of the present was stuck in the past, jarring the timeline, and they couldn't go back in time those few minutes to prevent the mistake. He growled, resisting the urge to completely destroy the machine. At the moment, the space warp drive was still intact, and if he could teleport them elsewhere within their own dimension, then they would be safe for the time being until he could fix the deadly mishap.

If only Batman hadn't butted his pointy-eared cranium into their delicate plans, then this wouldn't have happened, and the world would be a better place. One small time change, and the rippling effects could destroy the universe – which is why only one person was gifted with the imperative knowledge of which events to tweak. Connor knew what to do. If he could travel to where he needed to, he'd calculated every possible chain reaction from the crux point that would completely free the world of unnecessary evils – and of Batman as well. Yes, perhaps a few people would cease to exist, but no one who really mattered anyway. And the world would be a better place. Instead, he was stuck in the present, rushing to perfect the teleportation module before sending them hurtling into unknown territory. Pressing one last switch, and entering the final coordinate, he also input their life signatures. Just as he'd done with Batman, each of the three had been injected with a unique nanite serum that the machine could easily pinpoint and recognize, making sure that they, and only they, were affected by its calculations and movement. Adjusting one last slide switch, he turned the lever to bring the machine humming into action, letting the strange tingling sensation take him as they teleported. They would leave the police to ponder the shattered filaments and battle worn room.

But once he got the machine in complete working order again, he'd go back to work, and get his plan back on track. He knew which events to change. It was risky, but it was worth it, he knew, to eradicate two thirds of the world's population to secure the perfect futures of those that remained living. All right, so the term 'a few' had been relative. A few... two thirds of the world… in the long run, it wouldn't really matter, would it?

* * *

><p>School had only started an hour ago, but that didn't mean there was no need to worry. Terry never missed school, and if he were to miss anything, he always contacted SOMEONE. But no, instead, he seemed to have completely disappeared. "Hey, Max?" Dana walked up to the dark-skinned girl tentatively, a query obvious in her dark, slanted eyes. The young woman in question looked up from her laptop with a light smile, knowing what was coming, and afraid that she didn't have an answer. Dana brushed her hair back from her face, pulling her short skirt down a little farther before letting go what was on her mind.<p>

"Yes, Dana?" The pink haired girl finally asked, blinking her own, large brown eyes impatiently. "What's up?"

"I was wondering if you knew where Terry was?" She finally asked, her voice quiet. "I mean, you hang out with him all the time…"

Max smiled sadly, but shook her head. "I'm sorry." She brushed a shaky hand through her short hair, screwing her pretty face into an expression of intense worry. Her reaction was in no way a fabrication of her true feelings. She was rather worried about Dana's boyfriend. While the olive-skinned girl didn't know about Terry's late night escapades, Max was in on the secret because of accidentally stumbling upon his identity when she'd first thought the flighty, once delinquent was a Joker who went by the name of Terminal. When she'd discovered Terminal's true identity, though, she'd also begun to understand Terry's.

Since then she'd made a frequent habit of playing Oracle and Alfred to Terry's Batman, though she had a little more physical play than the old, original Bat probably pleased. She'd gotten deeply involved with a couple of cases, much to his chagrin, but there wasn't really anything he could do to stop her, so it was tolerated to an extent. Last night, at least at the early stages of the Batman's patrolling, she'd done her normal ritual of hacking onto the Batman com-link frequencies and having a nice little chat with her friend until Bruce had so rudely hung up on her. After that, she hadn't heard a thing, and today, Terry was nowhere in sight. It irked her that something would happen to Terry after the old man had cut into her link with practiced brusqueness.

Dana's eyes pleaded with her, hoping to dig some hint of good news out of her friend. It really was strange not having Terry here without him notifying one or both of them. Usually, he'd tell Dana first, because if Max ended up going to school and divulging Terry's absent excuses all the time, the girl was taken by a slight edge of jealousy and irritation towards the dark-skinned Max, complaining bitterly for a bit as to why she knew so much more about her boyfriend than she did. "So, you have no clue?" Dana tried again. "He didn't tell anyone?"

"I don't know where he his." Max admitted truthfully, hating the fact that she was so left in the dark on this matter. Terry told her everything about his 'job', so she would've been the first to know if he'd been going undercover, but she'd heard nothing concerning his nonappearance. A sense of dread was steadily growing in the pit of her stomach. There was a saying that no news was good news, but not in Terry's case. If he hadn't contacted anyone, then something was terribly wrong, and he'd gotten himself into some severe trouble. After school, she owed a long overdue visit to the Wayne manor.

A thrill of excitement needled its way through her anxiety for a moment. It was a daunting thought, finally going to the old man's house after all this time, but if she was going to find out what happened to Terry, she was going to need a lot more than a hacked com-link line which he could easily shut off. He couldn't shut her down if she was standing in front of him, and that's what she intended to do.

* * *

><p>Wayne Manor was positioned about a forty-five minute drive to the east of Gotham City, placed on the precarious cliffs along the coast. Further out behind the stately castle, it was easy to access the Atlantic, staring out over the salty spray, and the fissure in the ground where Bruce had first discovered the weaving, dark catacombs of the Batcave that sprawled out below the mansion and various parts of the city. Max wasn't worried about any of that, though. Staring ahead and taking a deep breath, she began to move forward toward the foreboding edifice.<p>

She wasn't sure if this place had ever looked friendly, though it may have had the faux appearance of happiness when Alfred had still been alive, and Bruce Wayne had still been the Prince of Gotham. It made her chuckle, to think of the cynical old Bat as young and handsome, wooing the richest and most gorgeous of all of Gotham's women, including the rather elusive Selina Kyle, better known as Catwoman. Max knew the old cat burglar was still alive, but where she was tended to be a mystery, though she had no doubt in her mind that Bruce knew.

The pink-haired girl shivered as she walked up to the gates protecting the mansion from the outside world. The sheer appearance of gloom and doom hovering about the place made her want to run in the opposite direction, but she stood her ground, knowing that something was wrong with Terry, and the old man WOULD let her help, whether he wanted to or not. She glanced warily over to the buzzer to her left, but decided against it, guessing that if asked, the man would never let her in. So instead, she scaled the gate. It was much easier said than done, and she slipped back down quite a few times before landing neatly on her feet on the other side. Max wasn't the most stealthy person in the world, and she knew that if he hadn't already seen her, then it wouldn't be hard to spot her along the open pathway anyway, so sacrificing any tact or covertness, she walked somewhat hesitantly up the winding dirt pathway to the large front doors. This, by far, had to be the most formidable part of the trek, the heavy oak wood looming over her, the intricately carved gargoyle headed knockers making her shudder slightly as she reached forward to announce her presence. She hesitated. Maybe she should just try the handle…

But she never got the chance. Apparently, Bruce had seen her coming. The door opened a crack, and Max jumped slightly as the old man peered at her acidly from behind the thickly adorned doors. "What do you want?" He growled, as welcoming as ever to find her on his doorstep. She heard the snarl of a dog somewhere beyond him.

Staring surprised at the man for a moment, she finally swallowed, and became her defiant self again. "I want to know where Terry is." She demanded. "He wasn't at school today, he didn't tell anyone where he was, and…" The old man backed away from the door, opening it in a gesture akin to welcome. He looked away; apparently vexed by the situation he seemed to have become a part of. He knew as well as anyone that Terry was gone, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out to where. The communications had simply been claimed by static, and the vid-link had cut out as if the main source had never existed in the first place. "Please, come in." He didn't bother to smile as he usually did when faking cordiality. "Mrs. McGinnis is inside as well. If you'd like, you may join her in the living room."

Incredulous, the young girl stepped into the mansion, eyeing the dog warily. It sniffed, growling at her a moment longer before deciding that she didn't pose a threat. At that, he sneezed, and trotted back to Bruce's side. The elderly man stroked the black Great Dane absentmindedly, heading back in the direction of Mary McGinnis. Silently, Max followed. Well, so much for her plans to sneak in over the gates. She might as well have pressed on the buzzer. With Mrs. McGinnis here, that really meant Terry was in trouble, and Bruce had some explaining to do.

Mrs. McGinnis sat on a lavish couch in the sprawling downstairs living room, staring blankly at nothing in particular, a cup of rapidly cooling tea cradled in her white-knuckled hands. Mr. Wayne took a seat across from the two women and Matt, for whom Max only spared a momentary glance. The young boy sat on the opposite side of his mother from her, and looked particularly sullen, swinging his legs back and forth moodily. "I was just explaining the situation to Mrs. McGinnis." Wayne spoke quietly. "I sent Terry out to run an errand last night, and he never came back."

Max eyed the man suspiciously, knowing there was more to the story, and wondering why he didn't just tell the mother about the Batman angle to this so-called 'errand'. If Terry was missing, then she deserved to know. She'd been put through too much grief already, barely ever seeing her son, and now, to have him completely disappear… She was most likely having flashbacks of her husband's death, wondering if her oldest son was even still alive.

"He's okay, though, right?" Matt finally piped in, his reedy little voice hopeful. His mother laid a quieting hand on his head, but the hyperactive child squirmed, his eyes focusing on Mr. Wayne. "Right?" He repeated, but silence met him.

"Matt…" His mother's sweet voice came next, and she looked down at him through tender eyes. "We just don't know."

Matt's gaze fell brooding to the floor. Despite the fact that he acted as if he hated his older brother most of the time, he didn't know if he could survive life without him. Terry had always been there for him, especially when he'd really started to miss Dad. That, and who was he supposed to fight with now, when his older brother was gone?

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. McGinnis." Bruce's calm, low voice was very sympathetic. "If there's anything I can do…"

"No." Mary cut him off, standing and refusing to meet his gaze. "I think you've done enough. I'll call the police, and hope that they can find something."

Bruce's gaze fell to the floor as well, and he rested his chin on his folded hands as the woman took her youngest son, moving towards the door.

"Maybe we can call Batman, too!" Matt blurted hopefully as they walked away. "Batman could find him!"

Bruce closed his eyes in mental agony, a sharp pang of guilt stabbing at his heart. No, Batman was the reason Terry was in this mess, and Bruce didn't even know what had happened. He wouldn't, either, until he visited the scene of the occurrence. When he heard the front door of the mansion close, he reopened his eyes, staring at Max, who stared back blankly. "So what really happened?" She inquired quietly, leaning forward.

Bruce closed his eyes again, sighing. "He was fighting, at the Powers' mansion. Despite the fact that he hates that man for killing his father, a break in is a break in, and I made him go." He paused for a moment, staring straight ahead before continuing. "There were three people there, a man by the name of Connor, another called Jack, and a woman – Eva. At least the two men were metahumans. I was never actually able to catch sight of the woman. Terry was doing all right until he took out the one called Jack, and then, he started making mistakes. Connor knocked him senseless, injected him with something…and then…" The video feed of the lights exploding overhead replayed relentlessly in his mind as the brilliant whiteness consumed everything. Ace had been barking his head off, and when everything finally settled out again, and Bruce had reopened his eyes, Terry had been gone. The com-link no longer responded, and the video feed had been nothing more than white noise.

Max looked skeptical and horrified all at once. "You mean to tell me that this machine just… vaporized him?"

"I don't know." Bruce admitted. "I haven't exactly gone to examine the scene yet. The police were still there this morning."

"And what about tonight?" Max stood suddenly, adamant. "I'm going with you."

Bruce stared at her levelly, knowing that he may – unfortunately – need her help. He almost smirked in remembrance of the first time Terry had gone missing, when he had tricked her into becoming the decoy for their little underground escapade. He doubted she would let that happen to her again, but still, the memory brought him some sense of pride and amusement. "Fine." He murmured. "I know I wouldn't be able to dissuade you anyway."

Max smiled, resting her hands on her hips. "Duh."

The crime scene wasn't anything like Bruce had seen it the night before from the video off of Terry's headset. It was clean. Bruce huddled inside his long, brown jacket, scowling and pulling the collar up further around his neck and jaw as he swept a flashlight over what was left. This was rather irking. He leaned heavily upon his cane, noting several abnormalities that the police had been unable to straighten up, though. Like the light bulbs overhead – they were still shattered; the filaments frayed and blackened, just like the crusty, jagged glass that clung to them. The ceiling and parts of the walls, as well, were devoid of plaster, in some places bare to the inner woodworking of the house. Bruce shuffled forward a slight bit more, scanning again, as if something would jump out at him better now than it had before. A strange feeling of energy hung in the air, making his hair stand on end.

Max, standing near him, shivered, rubbing her arms as if she were cold, watching Ace as the dedicated hound snuffled his way around the room. "Something creepy went down here." She whispered. Bruce's eyes simply narrowed. This was much too similar to another scenario he'd experienced many years ago when he'd still been a part-time member of the Justice League, back before Hawkgirl had gone renegade. There were no remains, no bones, no ashes… no trace of a body being burnt, no lingering smell of charred flesh. Just like before, when Toyman had 'disintegrated' Superman, there was no trace of his ward to speak of. No human remains. He'd do a DNA sweep, just to be sure, but he was practically certain this was a similar scenario. It was an absolute law of physics: matter cannot be created or destroyed, but simply transferred back and forth between entities.

"Terry's still alive." He commented simply. "I'm absolutely sure of it."

Max stared at him through wide, dark eyes. "Seriously? Where is he?"

"That's one question. But if he was still within the parameters of our reality, he'd have found his way back by now, or contacted one of us." Bruce mumbled darkly. "Another more relevant query may be 'when' is he."

Max's eyes continued to widen, her mouth unhinging. "We're dealing with TIME TRAVEL?" She squeaked.

Ace looked up, slightly startled at the pitch change in her voice, before snorting and padding back around the room.

"I'm not positive, and it's impossible to know for sure, unless we find the culprit responsible for this entire mess." Bruce rocked forward onto his cane, gripping it white-knuckled. He had no memory of ever meeting Terry in the past, so perhaps the boy had been rocketed into the future. Time travel truly was a cornucopia of disturbing concepts, and it could go either way. It was like a stream, just like so many people before had commented. Time was a river, and if that river became polluted in any way whatsoever, the entire ecosystem was affected. Misplacing Terry even a few years could have horrendous ramifications that could barely be dreamed of. They'd have to right this wrong before anything truly disastrous occurred. And that meant finding Connor.

The elderly man switched off his flashlight, rubbing the bridge of his nose in irritation. After Chronos, he'd really hoped he wouldn't have to deal with anything time related again, and yet here he was, chasing Terry. Well, if the boy was smart, and he could be when he tried, then he'd stay out of trouble, and wait for them to bring him back.

"He'll be okay, right?" Max asked through the inky blackness that surrounded them, her voice as thick as the night, possessed with worry.

"He's… Batman." Bruce answered reluctantly, hating to admit the fact that he wasn't the one wearing the costume any more. "He'll be fine."


	4. Names 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman Beyond or any of the referenced story lines or characters therein.

Author's Note: Same author, same story, new pen name. :) Sorry if there's any confusion.

* * *

><p>Warp Element<p>

Names (Part 1)

* * *

><p><strong>Backtracked<strong>

Dawn was fast approaching in Gotham, and the boy knew two things – one, that he couldn't go around during the day dressed like whatever the hell he was, and two, that he still didn't know anything other than the fact that part of his life was consumed by this costume. Without the outfit, he was still nothing. Not that he was anything _with _the costume at the moment, but still… He stealthily crossed another rooftop, landing silently in an alley down below, behind a Goodwill store. He almost felt bad taking from them, but then he realized that he was just about as needy as anyone roaming the streets homeless and penniless.

With sudden shock, he confirmed that's exactly what he was. He was homeless, penniless and nameless, and he didn't know anyone who could help him. The four last night, he presumed, were the protectors of the city, but they hadn't given him enough of a chance to hear him out. And so, he'd have to fend for himself along these dark streets, since all he had to his nonexistent name was a skintight Halloween costume and his undies. He didn't think the black and red disguise was appropriate day wear, though, and walking around in just his boxers was absolutely out of the question, so here he was.

He really felt like a hobo – reduced to digging in the 'drop off' donation dumpster behind the Goodwill store. After the rain had stopped last night, he'd left off his mask to let the cut on his head dry out and begin to heal, and he could already feel the bruise creeping down the right side of his face. So in just his skin-tight costume, he leaned forward over the edge of the banister, searching for a pair of jeans. That was easier said than done, though, as the first one he found was about three sizes too big, and he remembered the fact that these clothes actually had to _fit_ him. Sighing, he threw the pair of jeans back, and went looking for another, with smaller sizes written on the tag. Once he found them, he stripped down to his boxers, still beyond disappointed that he hadn't hidden an ID or money anywhere on himself. When he got his memory back, _if_ he ever got his memory back, he'd have to remember to at least keep credits close at hand, since the ID would be dangerous to revealing his secret identity. Yeah, his identity that was so secret not even he knew it. Talk about idiotic.

The pair of jeans he had settled on fit well, and slimmed around the ankles. Still bare-chested, he hung the costume and the mask over the side of the dumpster, wiggling his bare toes in the wet mud. Yeah, he'd need shoes to. He hefted himself up over the edge of the dumpster again, digging around for a fitting shirt and some shoes. He was able to come across the left shoe from a pair of navy blue converse, as well as a slim, worn, white tank top. That would do. Wiping off his foot as best as possible, he put on the one shoe, the other still as bare as ever. Slipping the tank top over his head and covering his muscular upper body, he performed another session of dumpster diving, managing to sift through the other articles and find his right shoe, as well as a light jacket which zipper the shoe's laces were tangled up in. Wasn't that just convenient? Once he managed to separate shoe from zipper, he covered his right foot along with the left, and slipped into the jacket. It really was a nice coat, he had to admit, for though it was extremely worn from too many bouts with a washing machine, it was soft on the inside, and warm. White stripes fading into gray lined the outside of each sleeve, breaking through the otherwise plain black outerwear.

There. Now the only question was, what the heck was he supposed to do with his costume?

He took it off of the side of the dumpster, staring at the mask momentarily, those white, frosted lenses staring back at him blankly. His brow furrowed into a contemplative gaze. He didn't know anything about his costume, or why he wore it. Maybe he should just leave it here…

The thought crossed his mind, but something in the back of his head screamed at him to keep it close at hand. He pursed his lips, moving to abandon it, but he couldn't bring himself to leave it behind. Finally, he sighed, relenting to whatever strange instinct told him to keep it around. He looked back to the dumpster. Another dive seemed to be in his future. Grumbling at himself, he leaned back over the outer rails, digging through the old, discarded items and clothing for a bag of some sort that he could stash the suit in for now, until he needed it again. Though he doubted he'd ever be able to figure it out completely enough to use it efficiently in any manner. Didn't it suck that if he had to lose his memory, his life would be so freaking complicated? Why couldn't he have been someone simple and easy to figure out? But no – he lost his memory, and woke up with no knowledge of why he was wearing dancing tights. For all he knew, he was a runaway ballerina from a Russian dance company!

After a few minutes of sifting through junk, he managed to find a beige shoulder bag that was made out of a denim-like material similar to his jeans. That would work. He slung the thing over his head to rest the strap against the left side of his neck, the bag itself dropping its weight on his right thigh. Slipping the suit inside, he secured the strap, glancing out to the city streets beyond the alley. With tentative steps, more silent than a cat, he came to the edge of the sidewalk, where numerous people of all status, shape and size were already beginning to trickle into the world. The first rays of sun struggled to break into the forever dark and unreachable crevices of Gotham city as the stranger with no name slipped in among the quickly growing crowds, inconspicuous and unnoticed.

* * *

><p>Bruce rubbed his jaw, yawning slightly as he tapped the keyboard lightly with one finger. He still wore the Batman suit, but the cowl was removed, resting back against his cape. "Scan again." He said, a shaky nervousness creeping into his usually smooth, dark voice. It had to be the fiftieth time he'd ordered the computer to perform that particular function, but he just couldn't believe the results. He refused.<p>

Barbara had long since left for her apartment, as had Dick for his loft, and Tim had gone to savor the last few remaining hours of the night in sleep. Bruce, on the other hand, had begun to run tests on the blood sample he'd been able to retrieve from the scene. So far, the others didn't know about the results, and he wasn't sure he wanted them too. In fact, he really didn't want to know the results either, and yet here he was, staring them in the face. They'd only had a slight run-in with the young man, and that by itself had left inconclusive evidence as to his identity, but this… The computer hummed, a small download bar stretching across the screen for a number of seconds before flashing the same thing it had told him the past fifty or so times. PARTIAL DNA MATCH CONFIRMED.

"Dammit." Bruce swore bitterly, perplexed as the same picture flashed up on the screen. That was impossible! No, he corrected himself; it wasn't impossible, just like it wasn't impossible to break into a bank vault without opening it. It was highly improbable perhaps, but not entirely impossible. He glanced at the sample again, wondering if he had accidentally contaminated it upon return to the cave. Now _that_ was impossible. He was Batman. He didn't make mistakes.

He sat back in his chair, staring up at the computer screen, his piercing blue eyes absolutely vexed. He summoned to mind the vague picture he'd been able to catch of the teenager's face for the slim moments he'd taken off his mask. It was true, there were some similarities, he supposed, but then, Dick shared quite a few as well, and he wasn't…

The computer screen was still flashing at him, and so he scowled, angrily closing out of the application. The large plasma screen went blank; waiting for him to perform another action in the shorthand he'd developed to operate the computer. But he didn't do anything else, simply leaning forward to rest his elbows on the console, knitting his eyebrows together as he contemplated the situation. As impossible as it seemed, apparently, it had happened. The only other answer to the situation – other than the nonexistent chance that Bruce had contaminated the evidence – was that the boy was his son. It was almost impossible to believe, considering the fact that Bruce hadn't had relationships intimate enough to produce a child until into his late twenties, and he was in his early thirties as of now. But the imposter had been too old for that, at least sixteen or seventeen by Bruce's judgment. So how…?

This led into even more disturbing theories. It was highly unlikely that the advanced technology held in this other vigilante's possession was from the past or present… So he must've been from the future. The thought seemed pretty far-fetched, but the amazingly advanced technologies coupled with the results the computer had continuously repeated to him for the past three hours…

Bruce shook his head in disbelief. Was he really going to go with the theory that his son from the future was now in the past… er… present? He rubbed his temples. This could get messy.

As much as he didn't want to believe them, he couldn't doubt the results. The DNA match had been confirmed. That teen in black and red had shared exactly fifty percent of Bruce's own genetic structure. What worried him, though, was the other half – the mother's portion of the deoxyribonucleic acid – could not be confirmed a match to any of the women he had on file. He'd held his breath through each and every one of the tests he'd run, hoping to uncover the mother of his future son, but was left without answers. He was deeply relieved every time a picture flashed by with the great red NEGATIVE stamped over it. Though with Selina Kyle's 'negative', he'd felt a tinge of regret mixed in with the relief. She was a villainess, yes, but man, was she hot.

He sighed, abhorred by his severely unprofessional thoughts of these women, but when faced with the son you were never expecting to have, these questions were raised. Even so, the current Batman had almost no doubt in his mind that he'd only a few hours ago had a run-in with his future son – the future Batman.

The billionaire's brow furrowed again as he considered the possibility of cloning, as well, but those thoughts brought up an entirely new cornucopia of issues, such as why they didn't clone him directly, and mixed his DNA with another, or why the boy seemed to have no memory, and was running around in technology far beyond what even his own company was in the realm of developing.

"Master Bruce?" The sharply British accent startled the costumed Wayne out of his reverie, and he turned to his friend and Butler, standing.

"Yes, Alfred?" He asked, his voice easily masking his discomfort of the situation with its usual deep tone.

"It's seven o'clock in the morning, sir. You have a breakfast appointment with a Miss Delilah Rogers in an hour and a half."

Bruce nodded, moving to strip of the armored shirt he wore, as well as the rest of his costume. "Thank you Alfred."

"You didn't sleep, sir?"

"No, Alfred, other things on my mind. I couldn't sleep."

Alfred raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but at Bruce's silence, let the matter go, simply nodding his farewell, and leaving. If it were important, the man would tell him in time. "Very good, sir."

Suddenly, Bruce's date with Delilah seemed irrelevant. She was simply another woman in the long line of so-called girlfriends that Bruce Wayne had the habit of acquiring and disposing as easily as tissues. But now…

Did it matter any more? He already had a son. At some point, he was getting very deeply involved. But with whom? The boy's mother hadn't come up at all. He'd searched all files of age appropriate women, and nothing had come up. So who…? Bruce shook his head, dismissing the questions. A thrill of anticipation shivered up and down his spine. He was messing with his future, having that boy in the past. He would need to be secured. Somehow, Bruce doubted that the boy had completely made it through the warp with his mind intact. If he had been whole, he most likely would've recognized his… father… immediately. Unfortunately, it was morning, and Batman needed to be put to rest until the darker hours, so for now, he reluctantly stripped of his costume and began to prepare for breakfast, dismissing muddled thoughts of the mysterious boy to the darker recesses of his mind.

* * *

><p>He strolled as nonchalantly as possible down the street, his stomach growling in protest as he passed up yet another quaint bakery. Oh gosh that smelled good. If he had opened his mouth, he would've been drooling all over himself like a stray dog over a sirloin steak. He closed his eyes, almost whimpering. What a horrible analogy. That sounded so good right now. Unfortunately, he still had no money, and it wasn't as if a meal was just going to appear for him out of thin air.<p>

His stomach grumbled, arguing against his pursuit of whatever memory he knew was out there somewhere, begging him to stop and eat. But how was he going to get food if he didn't pay for it? Stealing crossed his mind, but then he remembered how loathe he had been to even take the clothes from the Goodwill dumpster… he didn't want to steal food too. And besides, he really didn't know where he was going, and maybe he'd find some sort of free sustenance along the way, like those little samples in Wal Mart. He supposed he was in the downtown district of some city or another, judging by the tall, glass plated buildings that rose to insanely towering heights above him. It was a dark city, though, where refuse lingered around every corner, the homeless finding refuge in the crevices of even the ritziest areas. One of which, he supposed he was in now.

Despite the dark alleyways hiding behind every gallant hotel, casino and restaurant, everything seemed golden and perfect where he walked now, including the people.

Oh, no.

His stomach screamed at him to stop, and without consciously relenting, he did so.

Oh, no…

He turned, the glorious smell of gourmet breakfast food invading his senses, the sizzle of frying breakfast meats, and the crumbling of practically homemade biscuits. The smell of glazed pastries and exotic, fruit-filled drinks tainted the air. Omelet was in there somewhere too, spicy scents of garlic, oregano, and paprika, coating the luxurious hint of cheese and a mix of tangy strawberries, raspberries, and another he couldn't identify. Pancakes wafted out on the breeze as a man and his breakfast date opened the front door, sauntering in lazily. The boy plastered himself up against the window, mindless of the strange stares he was receiving, possessed by his hunger. Pancakes. With maple syrup and blueberries. His mom still made them from scratch, despite all the instant breakfasts you could get now, and they had always been the best pancakes in town.

His eyes widened for a moment. His mom! He grabbed at the memory of her flipping the fluffy, crumbling breakfast bread, but it slipped away, leaving nothing but the lingering smells of delicious sustenance hovering around his person. He groaned, resting his head against the window. Well that was a useful tidbit of information. His mom made pancakes from scratch. How was that supposed to help him find her? And the thought had only succeeded in making him hungrier. He sighed, looking up and through the window again, scanning the happy faces of the people inside the restaurant, eyes pleading for a hand out. Life was so unfair.

* * *

><p>"Here you are, Delilah." Bruce smiled charmingly, helping the slim brunette into her seat. She smiled broadly back at him, flashing a gloriously white smile as she brushed her hair back out of her face. Every time she moved it was in a very controlled manner, knowing exactly how to flaunt her figure to capture a man's attention. Unfortunately, Bruce knew that was really all she had going for her. She was not an especially bright young woman, and her body was where most of her admiration came from. She was the model for some magazine or another, one of which the name escaped Bruce at the moment. Even so, the bachelor plastered on his best hungry smile, making sure his eyes followed each of her movements dutifully.<p>

Bruce Wayne had always been more of a mask than Batman. The act was almost shameful: the egocentric young bachelor that barely managed to keep hold of his father's company, constantly flirting and gallivanting around with numerous women of high status, but never settling down. It had almost become a game with most girls, trying to see who could get the most number of dates with the famous man. Who could keep the famed Bruce Wayne entertained the longest before he simply stopped calling? That was something he almost enjoyed, the secretive triumphs and downfalls of women that he was able to manipulate. The game was an interesting one, though he tried not to hurt the more earnest of the flirtatious young girls. His current date was a first timer, and obviously gunning for a second. Bruce, on the other hand, was pretty sure they wouldn't make it that far.

Despite the fact that he was well aware that the woman he breakfasted with now was a bit of an airhead, as her gaze became distant, he started to wonder slightly at her health. His buoyant facade fell slightly as he watched her, picking up a menu very slowly. "...Delilah?" He asked, quite serious.

"That boy…" She mused, tilting her head to one side. "He looks… lost. And… what's wrong with his face?"

At that, Bruce turned around, following her gaze to the black haired teenager that stood, longingly searching over the customers, practically salivating on the window. His eyes were a familiar blue, and there was a rather extensive, dark bruise covering part of the right side of his face around his ear and forehead. Quite a few of the restaurants other patrons were whispering irritably to their waiters, and Bruce saw that a floor manager was coming out of the back, nodding as he was accosted by about four frantic servers with threats from customers to leave if the barnacle wasn't removed from the glass.

Bruce stood. It couldn't possibly… but it was.

"Bruce?" Delilah questioned in an innocent, sultry tone, attempting to regain the man's attention while subsequently wondering at the sudden change in his demeanor as he set eyes upon the boy. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry…" Bruce quietly excused himself, moving out the front door and towards the kid, despite the indignant words of the floor manager following him. The boy's ear perked suddenly, and he backed up from the window as he laid eyes on the tall, suave billionaire approaching him. Delilah watched as the boy's azure eyes widened, and then he turned tail and bolted, Bruce following, leaving Delilah alone and baffled in the restaurant. She sighed, looking back down at the menu, and wondering if things like this happened often on dates with the eccentric bachelor. If so, she wasn't going to stand for sticking around. Delilah Rogers was not a woman to be stood up.

The beautiful young woman turned to one of the waiters and smiled. "I'm on Bruce Wayne's check, and I'll take mine to go, please."


	5. Tracking

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman Beyond or any of the referenced story lines or characters therein.

Author's Note: Thank you for all of your continuing support and kind reviews! :D Some comments and responses -

Nequam-Tenshi: Yes, Bruce would currently be part of the Justice League, but I do not plan on involving them in this fic in any way, aside from alluding to, or naming other characters within their ranks. :)

Dark Secret1: Thank you so much for your kind words! I'm very glad you're enjoying the story, your review was encouraging; made me smile! ^_^

**As I haven't updated in a long time, due to the Holiday Season, I will be posting another chapter within the next couple of days instead of waiting the traditional week. Keep watching for it, and enjoy ~ !**

* * *

><p>Warp Element<p>

Tracking

* * *

><p><strong>Future-side<strong>

Connor watched the data feed with heightened interest. It was absolutely true that Batman was the acting guinea pig of his initial warp experiment, but it still astounded him that the microscopic probes he'd injected into the boy's blood actually worked across the time-space continuum. Then again, he'd made them of the same technology that he had used to create the larger machine, even if they were simplified, sending only snippets of biological information instead of actual physical objects.

The bright splotch of violet color on the screen was the Bat himself, seemingly unharmed but for a rather erratic heart rate, most likely from the shock of being in a completely different time stream. He was probably disoriented and quite afraid. Either that or he was participating in some rather continuously hair-raising or stressful activities, which didn't really surprise the genius, considering the fact that this _was_ the Batman they were talking about.

"Batman?" Jack lumbered into the dimly lit monitoring room, focusing rather jealously on the little purple splotch of life force identifiable as their vigilante. He almost wished he had his plaything back. The superhero had been a rare commodity, and the strength he had drained from the young and vibrant spirit was already waning, and returning to its host. Unfortunately, Jack didn't get the benefit of maintaining his victim's vitality unless he killed them, and Batman was _far_ from dead, as evidenced by the information on the screen.

"How did you guess?" Connor drawled sarcastically, his face twisted into a rather demonic smirk. "Yes, dear friend, that is out little Bat. Or perhaps in this case – Lab Rat."

Jack nodded. He didn't always understand Connor and his little experiments, but he knew whatever he did was important to their master plan, and at some point or another, the man would monologue about it. Connor liked to talk, bragging about his scientific accomplishments, so he tended to do so to his friends, instead of subjecting himself to such temptation at the benefit of his enemies. It wasn't that the large, life-stealing man really minded. In fact, a lot of Connor's endeavors were quite interesting, but until they were explained, Jack always felt somewhat in the dark.

Connor stared fixedly at the screen, and then pursed his lips, gesturing to the lighter signatures within their guinea pig's immediate vicinity. "The dimmer sparks around him are completely separate personas. But there's one…" Connor pointed to another life force – not quite as bright as Batman's, but much brighter than the dull blobs surrounding it, and of a shade quite similar to that of the hero's. it had less of a violet hue to it, tending towards a navy blue, but it shimmered with flashes of amethyst distinctly similar to the Tomorrow Knight's. "It's strange. I don't think I've ever seen two life forces so similar, unless…"

"They were related." Jack finished, interrupted Connor's musings. That was one thing he _did_ understand. Since he devoured people's spirits, he had come to the quick realization that family members shared a distinctly similar flavor unique from anything else around it.

Connor frowned, contemplative as he zoomed in on the two figures of similar radiating energy. "That's impossible though. For the shades to be that similar, it would either have to be someone in the immediate family – not even a grandparent could be _that_ close in spectral hue. Am I right, Jack?"

The large man nodded, knitting his eyebrows together in the same feeling of confusion that Connor was now voicing. "I doubt the dreg's parents were even _born _back then…" he mused. "Let alone old enough to associate intelligently. And you'd think that Batman would be smart enough to avoid any contact with his family anyway, lest he completely destroy his future."

"Unless he doesn't know they're his family." Jack pointed out. He certainly wasn't the brains of the operation, but he had decent ideas every now and then, and by the way Connor glanced at him in surprise, he knew this was one of the better ones.

"Jack, my boy, you may actually have something there. But that still leaves the mystery open as to why this soul seems so advanced. Children don't appear so bright and defined like that. And I _know_ my sensors are working correctly." He furrowed his brow again, turning from the monitoring equipment and gliding into another dark room where his machine sat, doing naught else but collecting dust. He needed to fix the time warp, but so far, he'd been too distracted by Batman's erratic progress through the past to really concentrate on it. And so far, nothing had been screwed up. At least, not that he had noticed. Perhaps there were small things changing along the way, but nothing yet disrupting the entire stream of time.

Jack watched as Connor ran his hand over the sleek machinery, and then turned away. "The plan still needs to be carried out." He muttered. "And to do that, we need our time warp." The larger man nodded in agreement, his eyes child-like and blank.

"For now, though, I think we shall lay back. Monitor Batman's progress. Eva needs time to mend as well. I don't want to leave her behind." He flexed his hand, balling it into a great fist. Batman was going to pay for crashing their unveiling party. If he hadn't gotten involved, then Eva wouldn't have gotten hurt, and everything would have worked out perfectly.

But then again, it still could. Despite the fact that Batman's presence in the past was probably altering time around him as he contemplated his next move, it also gave him a 'get out of jail free card' in the sense that there was no longer anyone left to track him down and prevent his ultimate triumph. He smirked. Perhaps misfortune could work in his favor after all. But he did need Eva. If his girlfriend wasn't outside the reaches of time and space when he altered the past, then she would be altered along with it, and he couldn't let that happen. He needed her well – and soon – so that he could pull this off.

A little bit of stress gnawed persistently at his resolve. There were unknown constraints around his project. If things didn't work out, then his plans, and the entire past, present and future were at risk.

* * *

><p>"Max, I'm really worried." Dana said, sighing for what seemed like the millionth time. Her eyes were bloodshot and glazed, and the beautiful African-American girl next to her could clearly see that her acquaintance hadn't slept well last night. "I know Terry has a habit of disappearing, but not like this." It hadn't taken the girl long to discover the news from Mrs. McGinnis about Terry – the fact that he had gone completely A.W.O.L. without a trace two nights ago.<p>

The pink-haired Max wasn't exactly sure what to say to that statement. She knew what was going on, but she also knew that she couldn't in a million years breathe a word of it to the girl, lest Bruce Wayne take it out on her hide. Besides, there were some secrets that only Terry was allowed to tell, and either the boy would come clean, or the secret would – for lack of a better phrase – die with him. Max flinched at the thought, hoping it didn't come to that. Instead, she stared dismally straight ahead, no longer occupied by whatever she'd had going on her laptop. She'd been just as distracted and concerned as Dana, and the both of them had fastened together with some sort of strange, unspoken contract, worried out of their minds over the disappearance of the boy.

Dana looked down, staring blankly at the hem of her sky-blue dress. Her eyes began to take on a hard look, and finally, she set her mouth in a hard, grim line. "I think I'm going to speak to this Mr. Wayne." She said.

Max looked up at her, startled by the resolve she heard in the girl's voice. "Dana, I'm not sure if…"

Dana stood, shaking her head. "Don't try to dissuade me, Max. I'm tired of it. I know how much the Wayne guy matters to Terry, but this is really going to far. It doesn't make sense. Terry is so dedicated to him, and the man acts as if his disappearance is just a part of his job!"

_You have _no_ idea_... Max opened her mouth, quickly trying to cover for Terry and Mr. Wayne both. "Dana, please. This isn't Bruce's fault. You know these things just happen in Gotham, and Mrs. McGinnis has called the police. There's really no reason to…"

"No, Max!" Dana shouted, tears brimming in her eyes. "I'm tired of standing by the sidelines. I've let so much else just slip by, and watched Terry be consumed by this man and his job. I'm tired of fighting with him. I'm tired of being brushed off as second. If Mr. Wayne is always the reason he's leaving me behind, it's about time I got to know Mr. Wayne."

Max was surprised as the girl's resolve, and watched as Dana's manicured fingers clutched tightly at her white, designer purse, the keys to her convertible resting inside, a tantalizing temptation. They were outside for lunch at the moment. It wouldn't be hard to just walk to the parking lot…

Max laid a hand on Dana's shoulder, knowing where this was going. "Please." She said quietly, and her friend's head lowered, her black hair obscuring her face from view. "Please, just wait until school is out. I'll even go with you, if…"

"No." Dana said quickly, though her resolve was as shaky as her voice. "No." She repeated. "I'll be good and wait till after school, but this is something I have to do alone."

* * *

><p>Her hands gripped the tan, leather steering wheel, her knuckles turning white as she clutched tightly to it like it was her last lifeline. Perhaps it was. Perhaps this would be the last time she would ever see the light of day. Perhaps, just like Terry, she'd enter the great, mysterious Wayne Manor and never come out. Perhaps…<p>

Dana shut her mind off to these silly imaginings, taking a deep breath as she stared at those huge, wrought iron gates. She hadn't dared press the intercom yet, instead turning off the sleek, white vehicle and sitting, staring in horror and agony up at the great, grey mansion. What else did she have to lose? The old man had already taken Terry from her. Maybe if she got sucked in too, she'd at least get to see her boyfriend more.

Taking another gulp of air, as if it were her last, she pressed the button, and spoke. Her heart fluttered fearfully in her chest, but somehow, she managed to keep her voice steady. "Hello?" She sounded a little more timid than she would've initially wished, but let go, staring at the speaker, waiting for a response. It seemed an age before the old, gruff voice broke over the intercom, and growled at her, but it was a welcome sound.

_ "If you're the girl scouts, I already said I didn't want cookies. Go away."_

Dana scowled at that, and her next comment was much steadier, and she even managed to slip a little attitude into it. "No, I'm not the _girl__ scouts,_ I'm Dana Tan."

Another long, seemingly endless pause accentuated the conversation.

_"__And __you __expect __me__ to __know __who __that __is?__ Go. __Away.__"_

His words were firmer this time, despite the fact that he knew exactly who she was. He stared down at her from the large, floor to ceiling windows he had spotted Terry from before the boy had stolen the suit. She was a pampered and spoiled little girl. She wasn't meant for this life. Truthfully, he'd never seen her before, and had only heard her name as mentioned by Terry. But she was weak. She shouldn't be Batman's girlfriend. She was too vulnerable, too delicate, too…

"Open the gate!" Dana demanded, being as authoritative as she ever had in her life. "Look, I'm Terry's girlfriend. Let me in! I have a right to know what's going on!"

Bruce watched as her face turned harsh, and she glared mercilessly up at the mansion, her eyes scanning the walls. He backed up from the windows, contemplative. So many comments and insults roiled in his brain. He should be down in the Batcave right now, locating Connor. He should've been telling Dana to get lost and get the story from McGinnis' mother. He should've been doing something. He should've been doing anything other than what he was about to do.

He hesitated, sighing as he leaned heavily upon his cane. Ace's great, liquid ebony eyes stared up at him calmly, and he whined, wondering why Bruce was undecided. The Master was never undecided. Ace cocked his head to one side, his thin, ropy tail sweeping back and forth lightly in a momentary motion of encouragement. He shuffled his paws, circling the elderly man, waiting impatiently for some signal. Inwardly, he almost wished Bruce would let him out to run after this white monster that sat in front of the gates, causing so much trouble. He'd attack it. He'd get rid of it. Then everything would be better again.

Bruce frowned, rubbing Ace absentmindedly behind the ears, and then pressed the button.

The gates opened.

Dana turned on her car again, and drove forward.

She was even more apprehensive now, clutching the steering wheel with pallid hands. This was it. This was the day when she finally unraveled the mystery of her boyfriend's job. She eased to an insanely controlled stop quite a few feet before rounding the proper curve that swept past the front door and back out onto the incredibly long dirt driveway. She stared at those double doors suspiciously through the windshield, and then, with a deep breath, slung her small, white, leather bag over her shoulder, and exited the safety of her vehicle.

Despite the fact that it was such a sunny, charming day, everything felt gloomy around this disheveled old place. Dana's eyes scanned the somewhat unkempt, wild garden, and wondered when the last time a hired hand had been out here. She shivered as her own personal rainstorm seemed to envelope her, a black, gloomy cloud consuming Wayne Manor. It astounded her how this man used to be so popular. He wasn't charming, he was absolutely horrifying. But Dana wasn't going to let that hold her back. With one last harried glance around, she stood up straight, and advanced on the doors.

She didn't have the chance to knock.

He was waiting for her.

The door on her left opened only a crack, but his piercing eyes still cut through her like a hot knife through butter. Refusing to let her fear show, she pursed her lips, fingernails digging into her bag.

"What do you want?" Bruce said bluntly, gruffly.

"I want to know where my boyfriend is." She responded, still sounding much more timid and desperate that she would've previously hoped.

"Why did you come here? You could've gotten that information from Mrs. McGinnis. Why ask me?"

Dana took a deep breath, and Bruce again, was forced to realize how fragile this young, very pretty girl looked. She was slim; most likely never worked out, and of course, had that perfect, glistening black hair. She was your typical popular teenager. She shouldn't be involved with Terry. Not with the risk that he carried as Batman.

"Because I already know he's gone. I want to know _why.__"_ Her eyes narrowed as she considered the older man. This had to be the bravest thing she'd ever done in her life.

Bruce regarded her coldly, measuring his options. It would've been so easy to just throw her out in the cold (so to speak), dismiss this, and be the cantankerous old man he was supposed to be, but he found himself letting her in. Dana wasn't as surprised as he was at his own actions. "I can't tell you everything." He confessed, his voice grim and solid. He didn't offer the young woman a seat, or any refreshments. He let her stand; right here in the foyer of the grand mansion. He wasn't sure why he was confessing this. Perhaps, after all these years he was finally getting soft. Maybe he'd become tired of relationships dying before his eyes. Maybe it was because of Tim. Maybe it was Barbara, or Dick… but whatever it was, he found himself talking, when he most likely shouldn't have been. "When Terry got himself into this mess, he took up the secret as well. No one, not even his mother, knows. He's keeping you safe. Just know that, and let him be. If he hasn't told you, then he's trying to protect you."

Dana's dark eyes widened in surprise, and she opened her mouth, dumbfounded. That hadn't quite been the answer she was expecting. "What do you mean, he's keeping me safe?"

"Not just you." Bruce said coldly, turning his back on the young girl. She bit her lip, still consumed by her own personal storm cloud. She wanted to shrink, she wanted to hide away, to believe that whatever was happening was just a simple disappearance, that Terry would be here soon, and everything would be normal again. But life was becoming more twisted and riddled with holes and speculations with every word the old Wayne spoke. Casual instinct told her to back down, but she was tired of leaving things be. She took a deep breath, calming her raging fears and doubts. "He keeps Gotham safe." She whispered.

"Sometimes." Bruce turned, glaring. He didn't expound upon what he meant – that sometimes Terry kept Gotham safe, and sometimes, he saved the world.

Dana lowered her head, studying the floor, her eyebrows knit together in absolute confusion. "I'm… I'm not sure I understand…?"

"Then ask Terry." Bruce interrupted, shuffling away slightly, his voice grim.

Dana was possessed by a sudden and uncharacteristic fit of rage. "When? When he's dead? When I can't do anything to…"

"_He__'__s__ not __dead!__"_ Bruce whirled on her with speed that she wouldn't have thought possible. Shifting his weight painfully, he raised his cane, pointing it at her. The end came inches from her face, and her soft, dark eyes widened as she backed up, stunned into silence. "You listen to me. What Terry does is great. It's his place to tell you, not mine. If he doesn't…" Bruce clenched his teeth, closing his eyes, and lowering his walking stick, leaning heavily upon it again. "…then it's not my place to fill his shoes. But he's _not_ dead."

Dana nodded, and Bruce peered at her through narrowed eyes. "Hn." He grunted almost inaudibly and turned away. "I'm not lying when I say Terry disappeared on the job."

"But the question is," Dana mumbled. "What job?"

Bruce looked back up at again, and she averted her nervous gaze. After a moment of silence, she turned back to him, pleading with everything she had. "So Terry's gone, and there's nothing I can do?"

"You can endure." Bruce answered, almost immediately. "You can trust in him, and know that he will come back, for you, if no one else. If there's nothing I hear more of when he's complaining about the job, it's the fact that he doesn't have enough time to see you. Share the same confidence in him that he shows in you. Give him something to come home to."

Dana nodded fervently, astonished at this revelation. While she had been continuously complaining about not getting to see Terry enough, he'd been doing the same about her? Bruce turned away from her again, and Dana found herself standing awkwardly in silence. So, with a slight nod and a quiet thank you, she took her leave, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Upon entering her convertible again, she didn't even bother to turn the key, caressing the steering wheel thoughtfully as she became lost in thought, staring blankly at the dashboard. Had she really been giving Terry grief all this time when he'd been out protecting people? And what did Bruce mean by that? And besides that, _how_ was Terry protecting people?

After a few moments of silence, she turned the car on, thoughts screaming in her head like angry hornets whirling in a painful hurricane of doubt and confusion. As she rounded the drive and began the long trek back out of the forbidding gates she entered through, the radio fell into commercial, blabbing on about some new medicine or another, and then lapsing into news and weather. She really didn't pay too much attention until one bit caught her attention. She turned it up a little, watching the gates approach in the distance. _"…__seems__ to __have __disappeared. __Crime__ last __night __ran__ rampant,__ and __Gotham__'__s __famed __Tomorrow __Knight __was __no where __to __be__ found. __He__ hasn__'__t __been __documented __as __seen__ since __two __nights __ago __during __the __mysterious__ break-in __at __the __Powers__' __abandoned __mansion. __Reports __are__ still __speculative __as __to__ whether __or __not __he __has __completely__ left __Gotham__ unprotected, __or is preoccupied elsewhere. Statements from Commissioner Gordon say that the police still have everything under control, whether or not Batman is around, but the public polls aren't quite as confident...__"_

All noise faded from Dana's ears as she slammed on the brakes, her eyes wide and scared. Her hands shook with the possibility of what had just occurred to her. Suddenly, everything seemed to click somewhere in the back of her mind. There had been so many clues, so many signs…

He always disappeared at night.

He was constantly tired, bruises and cuts that hadn't been there the day before characterizing his well-muscled body. She was his girlfriend. It was hard not to notice these things during their more passionate moments.

Even more evident than that had been watching him slowly transform from the juvenile delinquent he had been into this dashing gentleman she barely recognized. It wasn't as if she didn't appreciate or like the change, it had just been different. Sure, his grades still sucked, and he was still an absolute dork, but he'd made a complete u-turn behavioral wise. He had suddenly become… respectable. At first she'd just thought that it had been because of his father's death, but then, all of the signs had begun around that time – which was also the first time she'd brought him to Mr. Wayne's house. Terry had been ranting about how the old man was the only one able to help…

And then, there was always that one time…

She shivered as the vision of rats filled her mind, seared into the back of her eyelids. That had been a nightmare it had taken a long time to recover from, and even then, it still haunted her. But she'd never really considered the circumstances. She'd only been gone an hour or so before Batman had come for her, and somehow, he'd known exactly where she was. He'd known. He'd been concerned. And no one could reach Terry until _after_ Batman had left. And besides the rats, there had been other clues – like Batman's strange and sudden interest in Chelsea's incarceration in a questionable juvenile delinquent facility, his destroying the android that had become a little too obsessed with Howard, his involvement in both situations Willie Watts had created, his part in making Venom an illegal enhancing drug, him saving Max from the Jokerz that had taken a deadly interest in her… the fact that the gang of Jokerz in the club had gone after _Terry,_ and then he'd disappeared altogether, leaving Chelsea to care for her while he 'talked to the police'. She'd thought he was being insensitive when she woke up in the hospital and no one seemed to be able to get a hold of him. But he hadn't been insensitive. He'd been battling the Joker. The Joker's return and disappearance had been all over the news. Hadn't she noticed Terry's being upset over the entire ordeal?

Why hadn't she put it all together before? Batman had been involved with so many circumstances around the high school, and Terry had never been around to see them. He'd always shown up suspiciously right after Batman had left. It seemed impossible that she hadn't noticed, hadn't figured out the secret. It was so freaking _obvious_!

Dana slowly turned around in her seat, scanning the foreboding mansion again, just like she had before entering the gates. This time, Bruce didn't back away from the window. Dana's pleading eyes found his grim face, and stayed there. She couldn't tell if he was staring back at her, but he knew. She knew he did. She could feel it. But it wasn't possible. Her brash, joking boyfriend was the _Batman?_ This young man that she had known since the beginning of high school, and had been dating for over almost two years? It couldn't be possible, but somehow, it all seemed too right, too evident.

Terry was… Batman?


	6. Names 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman Beyond or any of the referenced story lines or characters therein.

Author's Note: So, life turned out to be a bit more involving and terribly distracting than I initially assumed it would be, and I apologize for the lack of updates. I'm continuing to write, though, and appreciate your patience. :) Here is the chapter I promised so long ago! Again, thank you for your continuing and kind reviews, I always enjoy reading them.

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><p>Warp Element<p>

Names (Part 2)

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><p><strong>Backtracked<strong>

He wasn't exactly sure why he had started running, but when a tall, well-dressed and fit stranger comes striding up to you with grim purpose in their eyes, I'm sure you'd be running too. The man had practically radiated the vibe of 'I'm only acting nice to get near you, and then I'll take you out'. Perhaps that was slightly melodramatic, but the young man still didn't like the feeling that had emanated from this older persona. He didn't know the other guy, but the way he'd stared… the way he'd approached... It seemed like the man knew _him_. Even so, the stranger wasn't appealing. Hence the running.

People screamed, practically diving out of his way as he weaved and plowed through the crowded sidewalks, moving faster than he had thought possible that he could move. He'd felt quite a bit more capable while wearing the suit, but the fact that he hadn't started tiring yet still surprised him. Briefly, he wondered why he was so well fit and trained, but he dismissed the thought quickly, glancing over his shoulder to find the large-framed man still trailing him doggedly. The guy was absentmindedly apologizing for bumping into people as he went, murmuring 'pardon me', 'excuse me' and 'I'm so sorry' every few steps.

If this man was an enemy, why was he being so polite? The boy's steps faltered a bit. What was with the threatening radiation, then? "Hey, you! Stop!" The kid turned back to facing forward, grimly speeding up when the man yelled. He definitely recognized that voice. In high contrast to his polite mumbles to those around him, his deep, growling order had clawed at the fleeing boy like a predator. Now he _really _didn't find the idea of stopping too appealing. What struck him more than the threatening tone, though, was the fact that he recognized the voice from _after_ waking up in the vault. He'd heard it somewhere in the time he remembered – the question to be asked, though, was where? It was possible that he'd heard it among the crowds of people he'd been milling around with for the past couple of hours, but he doubted one of them would have made such an impression as to be readily recognized later. The fleeing teen's eyes widened as he realized where he must've heard it.

He was one of the costumed people from last night in the vault.

So apparently he'd made a lasting impression last night – of the wrong kind.

He kept going, his feet pounding the pavement, the bag on his shoulder flapping awkwardly against his leg. But he wouldn't stop. He couldn't. Even if these people knew who he really was, they hadn't been too cordial to him last night, and really didn't want another confrontation with them. "Go away!" He yelled over his shoulder, but the man still pursued.

Bruce clenched his teeth, wondering if this was really all worth it. Perhaps the boy was his clone, working for the other side, leading him into a trap right now. But that didn't feel right. A clone would've had some knowledge or purpose – even if he had simply escaped his test tube – and the people who had made him would've been smart enough to implant memories and give him a name. But no… the boy was completely disoriented. Whatever was going on, he needed to be caught and contained. "_Stop!_" Bruce yelled again, feeling quite agitated. It was true, the younger teen was light and quick on his feet, but it didn't look as if he had an intricate knowledge of the streets sprawling out before him. Bruce frowned, thinking for a moment before diving down a side alley, and out of sight. Passers by and onlookers stared after the two runners with ill concealed confusion and interest, but quickly went back on their merry way. This was Gotham City after all. Weirder stuff than that happened every day.

The boy slowed slightly, for as he glanced over his shoulder again, he couldn't see the large form running deftly after him any more. He allowed himself a welcome sigh of relief, attempting to catch his breath as he scanned the usual throngs of civilians, milling about with seeming aimlessness. His pace deteriorated to a cautious walk as he continued scanning around him, but he wasn't expecting the man to reappear in _front_ of him.

"Gahhh!" He cried out in dismay as he turned, ducking as the guy tried to grab at his arm. "Leave me alone! I didn't do anything! Stop following me!" He twisted out of range, moving to sprint again, but the older man moved with the swift grace of a feline, managing to trip him, and send him sprawling across the sidewalk.

"Oomph!" Even then, he tried to get up and crawl away, but Bruce scowled, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket, and pinning him up against the wall. "Well, Kid, if you didn't do anything, then why are you running?"

"Because you were chasing me!"

Bruce was not amused. "I was only chasing you because you started running."

The boy ignored the statement. This was going around in circles. "Let me go! I don't want any trouble." He struggled in vain, and he didn't feel that it was necessary to pull out fighting moves yet, but if the man didn't let him go… "What do you want with me?"

At that, Bruce loosened his grip a bit, letting the boy come forward off of the wall. "Are you going to run?" After a moment, the boy shook his head, but his ocean eyes betrayed his fear and anger. Nevertheless, Bruce let him free. The kid straightened his grungy jacket, and brushed himself off, but didn't make any move to bolt.

"All I wanted to know," Bruce stated quietly. "Was if you wanted a little breakfast."

The boy's eyes went wide at that, his jaw dropping open. "You've got to be kidding me." He growled, surprise quickly replaced by hostile defense. "You expect me to believe I was chased two city blocks just to ask me if I wanted _breakfast_?"

"Yes." The distinguished man replied frankly. "Yes I do."

"I…" The nameless teen trailed off, rather at a loss of what to say to that. "You're not going to turn me into the police or anything?"

Bruce feigned confusion. "Why would I do that?"

"Never mind." The kid mumbled, shoving his hands in the pockets of his slim jeans. Maybe he wasn't from the vault the night before. He certainly wasn't as cold as any of _them_ had been. "I've just… had a rough past couple of days."

Bruce smiled. "Breakfast then?"

The boy looked up at the man's seemingly kind face, wondering where all the hostility he had sensed before had ended up. It seemed to have evaporated into thin air, replaced by an open and downright sunny countenance. The man didn't seem like a threat anymore, and somehow, his strange familiarity was comforting. The teen knit his eyebrows together, wondering why the man was so recognizable, but responded to the question in kind. "Yeah." He finally replied reluctantly. "Breakfast would be… nice." Talk about a handout. Guy chases you for that long just wondering if you're hungry? Something weird has _got_ to be going on there. Nevertheless, the lost young teenager fell into step beside the larger man as they walked back the way they had sprinted together.

Unfortunately, he couldn't hold back the next question. "Why do you care?" He turned, looking up slightly at the dark haired guy.

The man continued facing forward, but glanced at him out of the corners of his eyes, quickly formulating an excuse. "Honestly?"

The boy looked expectant.

"My girlfriend commented on the fact that you were standing by the window. I'm kind of trying to impress her."

The boy's ocean eyes went wide. "Because taking her to a restaurant like that wasn't enough? You had to chase me down and scare the heck out of me in the process? I thought you were…" He'd thought the man had been from the night before, chasing him to arrest him or something. Instead, he left the sentence trailing though, finding it unnecessary to endanger his dual identity if the man wasn't aware of it.

Bruce was suddenly interested, wondering if the boy had registered his connection to the masked personas in the vault. "You thought I was… what?"

"Nothing." The boy mumbled, averting his gaze to stare straight ahead, refusing to meet the strange man's gaze. The kid was looking slightly sullen now, and feeling quite used. At least he got food out of the deal. But then he supposed that made it a win-win situation – the man impressed his girl, and he got breakfast.

"I guess I should sort of thank you for chasing me down then, Mister…?" The boy didn't turn to look at him, but murmured the question quietly, being as discreet as possible in requesting a name.

At this point, Bruce figured he could no longer hide his identity. He didn't know if anything would come of the boy hearing his name, and in fact, he'd found it rather odd that the kid hadn't recognized him already. At this point, he was still caught between theories, and not quite sure what to believe. "Wayne." He finally said, answering the question. "Bruce Wayne. I'm surprised you don't recognize me. I'm in the news all the time."

Startled, the boy stopped dead in his tracks, and for a moment, Bruce thought he had finally triggered something in the boy's memory.

"Bruce Wayne?" The boy asked incredulously, and the thus named man turned to face him stoically. "_The_ Bruce Wayne?"

"Yes. That would be me."

"Huh." The boy started walking again, almost surprised that the name stuck out so vividly in his memories. Well, the name, and the fact that the man was practically a walking moneybag. He owned a huge company recently renamed Wayne Enterprises (go figure, right?) after a huge scandal involving the other major shareholder by the name of Powers. So, the business had gone from Wayne Enterprises, to Wayne Powers, to Wayne Enterprises again. "Somehow," The boy stated, "I thought you were older."

Bruce started walking again as well, staring through annoyed and half-lidded eyes. Yeah, for a moment, he thought he had finally triggered something in the boy's memory. So much for that theory. Unbeknownst to him, the name had triggered memories, just not the right ones. The young man was figuratively scratching his head, wondering why the heck he'd ever come up with the picture of a decrepit and sour _old _man (that he really felt like calling an 'old bat') in response to the name of this suave and debonair _young_ man (who was certainly a man, and not a bat).

Silence was the norm for a little bit until Bruce broke the awkward tension, and tentatively asked for his young companion's name. The boy's face soured a bit at that, and his eyebrows knit together again. Bruce was immediately aware of the fact that he either didn't know his name or was trying to hide it, for his companion scanned every word around him, searching for something to put out there as a cover. "Caine." The boy finally responded, pulling a first name off of the name tag of a passer by on his way to work. Bruce almost snorted with the irony. Random though it may have been, it almost seemed appropriate. Caine meant something to the effect of 'son of the fighter'. "Caine Grainier." The boy finished, the last name swiped from the tag of some expensive outfit displayed in a sparkling and pristine store window.

Bruce nodded, accepting this lie as functional for the moment. "Well, I'm sorry to have startled you earlier… Caine."

The boy shrugged his broad, well-muscled shoulders. "As long as I get breakfast out of it…" He trailed off, a hint of a smile claiming his thin lips. Bruce smiled lightly as well, glad that some semblance of peace and camaraderie had begun to sprout up between them. He had been hoping that this would be of assistance in pulling the boy into the loop of their 'Bat clan', and figuring out exactly who he was. It was still slightly awkward talking to him, knowing what he did about Caine's DNA, but the boy didn't seem to hint at the fact that he knew Bruce as a father. The situation was beginning to seriously confuse him. Brushing his bewilderment aside, he continued to try to make easy conversation. "What were you doing wandering around downtown Gotham gawking into restaurant windows anyway?" He queried casually.

"Being hungry." Caine replied honestly, shrugging.

Bruce smiled lightly. "Figures. Is that all you do to fill your time?"

_No, I also like to dress up in Halloween attire and scare the hell out of the locals._ Caine suppressed a smirk at the thought, and replied as nonchalantly as before, accenting his statement with a single shoulder shrug. "Eh. There are lots of different things to do, I suppose. Nothing too interesting."

Bruce eyed him suspiciously. Was every answer he received going to be skeptical and flighty? The theory that the boy had some sort of memory loss seemed more and more acceptable at this point. Still contemplative (and wondering how this was going to go over with Delilah), the billionaire playboy pointed to the golden storefront where only minutes before, Caine had been plastered to the window, leaving trails of drool down the polished glass. "Here." Bruce smiled charmingly, opening the door for his young charge.

Though still somewhat suspicious of the man's motives, Caine slipped into the restaurant, only to be confronted by a rather disgruntled maitre d'. "May I help you?" The thin, regal man questioned in a soured tone. Before he was able to reply though, the boy felt a strong hand on his shoulder, and he turned in surprise. Bruce stood close behind him, smiling confidently at the other man. "He's with me, Mike." He spoke in a haughty air, and the man stepped aside, if somewhat begrudgingly. Caine only spared the man a brief glance before turning his attention back to the direction Bruce was guiding him. The billionaire's hand was still firmly planted on his shoulder. An involuntary shiver ran down the boy's spine as a vision of that old… bat flashed before his eyes. The man sat huddled in a chair in a dark room – a cave? – his hands gripping his cane with strength unusual for a man of his years. His eyes were a cold, clear blue, and Caine couldn't help but see the resemblance to the man now guiding him to breakfast, but he couldn't be the same person… could he?

Shaking his head to clear the muddled cobwebs of his own past and identity, he began to glance around blankly and somewhat sheepishly as Mr. Wayne directed a dejected glance at his now empty table. Caine caught on quick, following his gaze, unable to suppress a small smirk. "Stood up... ouch."

Bruce pat the young man on the shoulder perhaps a little _too_ hard, causing the boy to lurch forward slightly as he flagged down a passing waiter, inquiring after Delilah's whereabouts. The waiter looked almost nervous... "Mr. Wayne, I do apologize. She informed us that you had business to attend to and would not be returning... We assigned the check to your tab..." The final statement was a little more of a question than intended as the man expected to be scolded for his improper judgement on the young woman, but Bruce simply sighed, nodding. "Well, thank you for that... I'll take care of it." He grumbled slightly as he gestured to Delilah's empty seat, indicating that it was now Caine's. "That little minx... She certainly won't be getting a second date."

"So much for impressing her." Caine quipped again, and Bruce shot him a gaze that abruptly silenced him and made his grin stretch wider in the same moment.

After being seated, the breakfast was suddenly much more awkward. Both men stared down at their respective menus, as if eye contact or speaking had become a sudden social faux pas. The silence stretched on between them, only broken by the occasional nervous finger-tap of Caine on the menu he seemed so occupied by, a flurry of thoughts whirling through his mind. He still didn't trust the man who had brought him here, though he did appreciate the gesture of breakfast.

It was Bruce who finally banished the quiet as they waited for a server, almost wishing he hadn't pursued the strange boy at that particular moment. Almost. But at this point there was no going back, so he may as well get some use out of the child while he still had him here. "So, Caine. Do you live around here?"

"No." Caine wasn't quick in answering, but he didn't labor over the question. He seemed to be coming to terms with the fact that the major pieces of his memory were going to be so much harder to make sense of then the small parts associated with specific names and titles.

"Really? Then why were you wandering around downtown Gotham?" The billionaire tilted his head, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin upon them, a speculative air accenting his expression.

"Jeez, what's with the twenty questions?" a defensive air overcame the child. He didn't like this guy prying into his life. And as much as this Bruce character was seemingly easy to talk to, and somehow a little more trustworthy than he'd initially expected, he wasn't willing to bare his soul to just anyone yet. Not until he figured out what was going on. His blue eyes smoldered suspiciously, and he backed as far as possible into his chair. Bruce leaned back comfortably, giving the boy as much space as possible while maintaining his calm demeanor. He had Caine here, but if he pushed too hard, then there was nothing stopping him from running. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry." He glanced down at his menu again. This was going to be an interesting breakfast.

It was the nervous waiter that interrupted their silence this time, and each man ordered. Bruce's breakfast was light: egg whites and vegetables, a glass of juice, some coffee. After a hesitant inquiry after how much he was allowed to order, and being given free reign over the menu, Caine took good advantage of his own breakfast. It was a heavy meal comprised of an omelet filled with ham, bacon, green peppers and onions, accompanied by pancakes, bacon, sausage, and hash-browns on the side... and of course, everything that could be was smothered in either cheese or syrup, respectively. Bruce noted that it was more of a country meal. The kid didn't seem used to the fancier tastes, and had manipulated his order to fit. There was no lobster or caviar, and Caine had actually made quite the face when it had been suggested. After the waiter left to take their requests to the kitchen, silence was the norm until their food arrived and each man focused solely upon their sustenance.

As the elder of the two picked through his meal like the spoiled rich man he was, the younger plowed through his with abandon. "How long has it been since you've eaten?" Bruce finally asked with a bemused smirk. Caine shrugged, not wasting time to stop eating and answer, perfectly intent on his meal. The billionaire's gaze softened as he watched the teenager, feeling somewhat sorry for the seemingly starving boy. He couldn't help but wonder if he was homeless. Why else would he have been so defensive about where he lived, and have been pining for food through a storefront window?

"Caine… I can't help but wonder… do you have _any_ place to stay?"

The question struck the boy odd, and he stopped inhaling his meal for a moment enough to breathe and reply. He laid down his fork with a reserved air, unsure of how to answer. "Honestly…" He started, figuring it wouldn't be a problem to answer. "I don't know."

Pouncing on the chance he was being given, Bruce inquired after what had been bothering him. "You don't know? Do you mean to tell me you're homeless, or…?"

"I mean I don't know!" Caine answered with something resembling a growl. "I… might be. I can't… remember." He mumbled, fumbling over the words, and feeling embarrassed to admit to these things. So that was it. Bruce sat back, feeling pleased that this small portion of the mystery had been cracked. So – it had been memory loss.

Despite the pleasure at having unraveled part of the mystery, Bruce's expression maintained deep concern for the young man. "You can't remember? Caine… does this have to do with your injury?" He gestured to the obvious cut and contusion that spread over part of the young man's face. "Do you need help, or a place to stay?"

"No." Caine stood abruptly, suddenly feeling that this contact with humanity had certainly gone too far. He shouldn't be associating with this guy. He didn't know him. It wasn't right. "Look, thanks for your hospitality and all, and for breakfast, but I really need to get out of here."

Bruce grabbed the boy's wrist, a worried scowl crossing his visage. "You sure you don't need anything?"

"Yeah." Caine mumbled, pulling away harshly. "Thanks and all, but I got to get out of here." He swiped a couple of breakfast biscuits still remaining on the table, and sauntered out of the restaurant with his shoulders hunched. Bruce's eyes narrowed slightly as he continued to toy with the food on his plate absentmindedly. He'd ended up pushing to hard, but the boy seemed fragile and flighty as it were. He stared after Caine as he passed by the storefront window once more, and sighed. He really needed to figure out what was going on here.


	7. Contemplation

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman Beyond or any of the referenced story lines or characters therein.

Author's Note: Two chapters, for your reading pleasure. :)

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><p>Warp Element<p>

Contemplation

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><p><strong>Future-side<strong>

Max watched her carefully as the day wore on.

The usually flamboyant and energetic young woman had been completely silent so far, staring at the floor, dark eyes mysteriously troubled. She clutched her books to her chest as if she were a shy, socially inept human being instead of one of the hottest girls on campus, dating one of the best looking – albeit flaky – guys.

It was an odd mood to see her in. She blatantly ignored all talk of fashion, men and movies initiated by the easily excitable Blade and Chelsea, shrinking into the darkest corners and staring off into space like a little hermit child. More often than not, Dana could be caught staring out the window at the pregnant clouds above, watching the rain pour down in torrents, lightning strike intermittently across the ever-darkening sky. One could only wonder what she was thinking of – but every dark crevice she saw, she swore she envisioned a flash of red, a glint of blazing white eyes…

Max alone knew where she had gone after school yesterday, and could guess why the girl was in such a mood. At first, she left Dana alone, but around third period, she was finally fed up with the sulky, anti-social attitude. When the bell to lunch rang, the pink-haired young woman rose to the challenge, and confronted her friend.

As Dana began to gather her things, a shadow engulfed her, and she looked up to find her dark-skinned friend hovering over the desk. She stared up at the pink haired girl for a moment, searching those chocolaty brown eyes with a level of intensity Max had never imagined the somewhat superficial girl to possess. "You knew all along, didn't you?" Dana finally concluded, almost saying it more as a statement than a question.

Max smiled somewhat lopsidedly, feeling as if she should've made some excuse in Terry's defense, covering his skinny little butt, making up some story to deny what Dana was questioning… but she didn't. She simply nodded, her breath caught in her throat. It almost felt like she was betraying Terry, even thought that wasn't even close to the truth. Dana had figured out by herself, and honestly, it was about time.

"Yeah." Max finally admitted quietly. "I figured it out during the whole Jokerz ordeal with Terminal."

Dana looked away, eyes flickering to the window and the ravaging storm outside, imagining he was still out there. It was almost surreal, with the weather matching her volatile mood so perfectly. The swirling winds whipped the rain onto the windows, pounding against the glass, and she looked towards Max again, sighing. "How long?"

"About a year." Max confessed.

"Why did you never tell me?" Dana questioned timidly. "Why did _he_ never tell me? Wasn't I trustworthy?"

Max pursed her lips, thin eyebrows knitting together. "It's not a matter of trust, Dana."

"Then what is it, Max?" Dana stood, her soft, wandering, contemplative gaze suddenly narrow and harsh. She brought herself up to her full height, still an inch or two shorter than the African American girl before her. "Why were you allowed to know while I had to be kept in the dark? Why was it that he ran to you to cover for his every move, make excuses, and help him with his homework? Why did…?"

"Dana…" Max took a step back, slightly taken by the ferocity and jealousy that plagued the girl's voice. Her dark, almond eyes flashed with fury in regard to Max, but she bit her lip, reigning in her emotions, and looking to the window for escape. Lightning danced off in the distance, and thunder rolled over them, quiet and smooth, building to a slight tremor under their feet.

The teacher glanced up at the last two students that stood facing each other, and cleared his throat, looking over the rim of his thin spectacles at them. The girls looked in his direction, clueless. "I can't go to _my _lunch until both of _you_ go to _yours."_ He annunciated with an air of irritation.

Both girls scowled lightly, but Dana gathered her things without a word, standing and sauntering out of the room without a second glance at Max. The latter rolled her eyes, sighing at the open defiance and hatred she was being shown. But then, Max Gibson wasn't one to quit, so she doggedly followed Dana out of the room, calling after her as the blue-clad young woman began to strut away down the hall. "Dana!" Her voice was exasperated. "_Dana Tan!"_

The olive skinned young woman halted, spinning on her heels to face her so-called friend. They were a few feet away from each other, separated by the students milling around them. "What, Max? _What? _ What could you possibly have to say to me _now, _after I figured everything out? What could you possibly _add…?"_

"He did it to _protect _you!" Max shouted angrily, cutting into Dana's rant. A few students glanced in their direction, so Max pursed her lips, pulling a stunned Dana aside into a small corner between the lockers and the stairs to the lower floors. The shorter girl blinked, eyes gone wide with surprise. Max put her hands on her hips, finally satisfied that she'd achieved catching the girl's attention.

"He did what…?" Dana looked absolutely clueless now, so Max willingly stepped in to fill the gaps.

"It was only shortly after his father died that he became what he is today." She whispered. Despite the fact that they were relatively alone in this section of the stairwell, you never really knew who was listening from behind the corner.

"Well I figured that." Dana looked down at her calf-hugging boots, still looking slightly sullen and irritated. "I took him up to Wayne's house that one night, reluctant to leave him alone. He seemed so lost, so distraught. He was practically begging the old man for help with some sort of computer disk, and then all of a sudden, he's the guy's errand boy a week later." Dana shook her head. "Back then, it didn't make any sense. But now...?" She averted her gaze, studying the floor tiles rather intently.

"It was a conspiracy against Wayne." Max explained. "Powers was operating CEO at the time, and he'd been hiding some rather dangerous projects from the older guy – Chemical Warfare sort of stuff. Mr. McGinnis was basically caught in the crossfire. He knew too much, so they…"

Dana's sorrowful eyes met Max's. "They… killed him?" Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. "Terry discovered this, and didn't tell anyone?"

"That's the thing. He told _Wayne."_ Max sighed. "The kid figured out the old man was the original you-know-what only hours before his father died. He'd let himself out of grounding to go clubbing with you, and then disappeared during that street fight with the Jokerz, remember?"

Dana nodded. "Of course."

"Well… That's when he discovered it. Going home after that, he discovered the crime scene. He's never really forgiven himself."

Dana nodded, mouth slightly open, entranced by even this choppy, half-hearted review of her boyfriend's tale. She'd never heard this side of the story before. All she had initially known was that Terry's father was killed by a gang of Jokerz – not that the murder had been masterminded by the operating CEO of the company the original Batman had owned. Her eyes widened. The connections were unreal. Was this even possible? Really, Max must've been trying to play her. How could Terry have walked through these halls every day, so nonchalant and carefree after all of this happened, fighting crime every night, enduring fear and guilt over his father's death…?

"The first time he played hero, he stole the suit." Max continued, smirking a little at this, unaware of Dana's inner turmoil. "Rather ironic in my opinion, considering the fact that he was using skills learned from his days running with a gang to become the new… you know." She shook her head, and Dana became re-engaged with the explanation. In this public place, they were careful to avoid mentioning names, just in case.

"So he became… and that was it? He's been doing that ever since? Almost a year… and I never guessed…" Dana's voice faded into depression. "I suppose it all makes so much more sense now, though. I gave it so much thought outside of Mr. Wayne's mansion last night. It took me forever to even make it out those front gates. But it still doesn't' explain why I was never allowed to know. Why did I have to be left out of half of his life? We've been dating for such a long time, and yet I feel as if I barely know him anymore. All it takes is five seconds to destroy your preconceptions of a person..."

"Like I said before, it was for you protection."

Dana looked skeptical, so Max expounded upon the statement.

"Consider it, Dana – he didn't want you to know because he didn't want to put you in jeopardy. If villains discovered that Batman was fond of you, or that you knew who Batman was, they'd be all over you in an instant, using you as bait. As long as you were kept in the dark, he had a better chance of keeping you safe. He was trying to protect you from a world where you could get hurt. He only had your best interests in mind."

"And yet I still managed to be kidnapped by a boy with his giant rats…" Dana shivered.

"I know." Max smiled a little. "I've had a couple run-ins with villains as well. And even when I figured out Terry's identity on my own, they barely tolerated my inclusion. I'm not allowed near the cave by a long shot, and I can't be involved in any of the cases. I've nosed my way in on one or two, but that takes force. And once, the old man tricked me into getting arrested…" her eyes narrowed in disdain as she remembered the incident in the old subways the first time Terry had turned up missing. "That jerk."

This earned a twitch of the lips from Dana – the closest semblance to a smile Max figured she'd get at the moment. It wasn't quite fair if the girl was _trying_ to stay mad at her, but she was slowly wearing down.

"I suppose…" Dana sighed. "I supposed its better to discover all of this now than never. Even after he's… gone…"

"He's not gone forever." Max stated adamantly. "It's not like he's dead. He's still out there… somewhere. Bruce is guessing time travel."

Dana's eyes widened again. This whole having a superhero as a boyfriend thing was going to take some getting used to. There were concepts involved that the normal world usually didn't deal or have contact with. "Are you sure…? Time travel? Really?"

"Yeah." Max responded, slightly surprised that Dana was taking all of this so well. "The problem is, we don't know to where – or rather, to when. The old man claims he doesn't remember ever meeting Ter back in the day, so we're guessing the future, but we have no real facts to prove anything. It's difficult to tell, considering the logistics of it all. Time travel is supposedly theoretical… so no one really knows entirely how it works." Max stared off into space a moment, consumed with worry for her lost friend.

Dana was contemplative, when suddenly, her eyes lit with revelation. "Because it never happened."

"What…?" Max looked up, staring at her friend with a bewildered expression.

"Consider it – Bruce doesn't remember Terry being in the past because it never happened. Or at least… it wasn't supposed to. Or maybe we prevented it already, so…" Dana's eyes darkened with confusion as she continued, her eyebrows knitting together. She brushed a loose strand of hair back from her face, tucking it securely behind her ear and frowning.

Max squinted. "Ouch, Girl, now you're making _my_ head hurt. We can't have already prevented it, because we wouldn't remember it happening in the first place… since… he never would have disappeared if we'd prevented the problem."

Dana opened her mouth, and then shut it again, contemplative for a second before continuing. "Or maybe we prevent the situation in the future… so it never happens and Bruce never ends up remembering it anyway…?"

Max shook her head. This was all getting a little too far-fetched. "I think this is only the beginning, really. It has nothing to do with fixing the problem, but everything to do with the fact that the timeline is totally out of whack with a small piece of now – namely Terry – flying around elsewhere. Things will probably start changing around here, and then…"

"Unless Terry's in the future." Dana pointed out with a sigh, bringing up the very subject that had spawned their entire migraine inducing conversation.

The pink-haired girl groaned, rubbing her temples. "I hate time travel, I really do. How are we supposed to find out where he it at all?"

Working on a brave whim, Dana grabbed her friend's wrist, and dragged her down the stairs to a side exit. "Hey!" Max shouted in surprise, slightly indignant. She pulled back again, but Dana seemed to be on a warpath, and wouldn't be dissuaded. She was acting so unlike herself. It wasn't that Max didn't enjoy the change; it was just… different. "Where do you think you're taking me?"

"Wayne Manor. This is way more important than school Max. This is a job for Batman."

Max smiled, catching her drift as they charged out through the parking to her car, taking refuge from the rain under the soft top of Dana's white convertible. They were both silently thankful for Dana's insight upon seeing the storm clouds earlier this morning, and raising the roof over the car. "The original one, you mean?" Max smiled lightly, sliding into the passenger seat.

"Whatever." Dana smirked, putting the key in the ignition, bringing the hover car to life. Really, this wasn't her first time to skip school – it was just her first time to skip school for anything other than shopping with Blade and Chelsea.

"Why are you here again?" Bruce's voice was as bitter and cold as the biting wind that whipped Dana's hair around behind her, the rain swirling about the girls' already soaked bodies. The man's eyes were vicious. Part of him was amused at the fact that he hadn't had this many beautiful women on his doorstep since he'd been in his twenties, but the majority of his persona was irritated beyond measure.

This was a completely different situation than those he'd faced in his younger years, and these women were associated with the _new_ Batman, and not him. Both girls stared at him with wide, clueless eyes, as if were obvious to why they stood dripping at his door. Of course, it was, and he'd anticipated this, but that didn't mean he liked it – especially since this meant they were skipping the latter part of school. Delinquents.

"We want to help find Terry." Dana spoke firmly.

"When I told you to endure and trust that he'd come home to you, I didn't mean for you to come knocking on my door offering your help. What the hell do you think you'll be able to accomplish anyway?" Bruce looked the young woman up and down rather pointedly, making her rather self-conscious of her thin, fragile figure. Her eyes narrowed. "Me? I suppose I can't do much of anything but sit behind a computer. It's Max that's going to do most of the fieldwork. But don't you think, working together, we have a much better chance of getting him back?"

Bruce looked between the girls, his blue eyes colder than ice, harder than stone. True to his eloquent vocabulary, he replied justly. "_No."_ He spoke with an air of finality amplified by his deep gravelly voice. With that, he slammed the door in their faces. Thunder reverberated through the door handle, and he let go, turning to look down at Ace. The elderly man's frown deepened, if that was physically possible, and he sighed. Blue eyes met black ones, and the dark Great Dane whined reluctantly.

"I know." Bruce sighed. "If I leave them out there, they're going to try and find another way in. But I can't be a pushover."

Ace sneezed, shaking his head vigorously.

"I am not getting soft in my old age." Bruce growled, gripping his cane tightly. "And who are you to talk? You're a dog, for heaven's sake."

Ace barked, shattering the otherwise silent atmosphere. Bruce stared at the animal through narrow eyes, taking in the situation carefully, deeply considering every option. "I suppose it's inevitable." He finally concluded. "They're not going to leave me alone until I let them in, are they? I swear. These children are going to be the death of me. Terry, and now Dana and Max…"

Ace opened his maw, letting his long, pink tongue loll out as he panted in agreement. Bruce stared at him a moment longer, and then turned back to the door with an exasperated sigh. Like he said. It seemed inevitable. There'd be no getting rid of them anyway. He reopened the door, displaying more than ample disdain. Dana and Max were both smiling, arms crossed, as if they'd expected this all along, and Bruce had to fight the urge to slam the door in their smug little faces again, resentful to the choice he was about to make. Unfortunately, he wasn't going to be any real help to Terry without a young body out in the field doing some version of recon, which was something Bruce wasn't exactly capable of anymore. He'd considered the mech-suit option, but killing himself was no help to Terry. So here he was, in a bind, stepping aside to let two young women into his mansion.

He glared acidly at Max first as she passed through the threshold, and then Dana. Neither flinched – outwardly at least.

"Fine." He consented. "But I make the rules."

"Of course." Max smirked, turning to face him as he quietly closed the thick, wood paneled doors. Dana stood happily by her side, determined to leave her spot on the sidelines. No more letting Terry save the city alone – it was time to save Terry.

"So, old man…"

Bruce glared at Max as she began to speak again. Apparently, she'd picked up her nicknames from Terry. It wasn't one that he was extremely fond of, but then, like the girls, he supposed it was something he couldn't escape. Perhaps old age _was _making him soft. He grumbled slightly under his breath, leaning heavily on his cane. "Young woman." He spat the comment back at her more like a reprimand than a simple acknowledgment.

Max took it all in stride. "So. Bruce." She corrected, still playing with the words though, speaking slowly, deliberately. The elderly owner of Wayne Enterprises was already regretting his decision to let the girls in. "When do we start, and what do we start with?"

Sighing, Mr. Wayne began to shuffle back through his private study to the clock, while the girls followed calmly, stowing their excitement as best as possible. Dana clutched her small white purse with her manicured fingernails, biting her bottom lip to restrain an immensely excited smile. Max was hugging herself tightly, eyes wide with anticipation as the clock slid to one side.

"I suppose we start at the beginning, and I brief you on what I already know." Ace yipped, bounding down the stairs and back, waiting for the slower humans. Bruce started down the stairs, and with apprehensive excitement, the girls followed. "I've been doing more than just sitting around. There's a lot to do still, though, you should both be prepared."

No reply was heard at Dana and Max stared about them with mouths agape, taking in all that was the cave. Bruce, with his back to them as he continued to lead down the cut stone stairs, allowed himself a small smile, whispering the same thing he'd told McGinnis when he'd first hired him. "Welcome to my world."


	8. Encounter

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman Beyond or any of the referenced story lines or characters therein.

Author's Note: Two chapters, for your reading pleasure. :) This is one I've been excited to post, in particular. Do enjoy.

* * *

><p>Warp Element<p>

Encounter

* * *

><p><strong>Backtracked<strong>

It was alluring.

The mask.

Those eyes.

The onset of night.

He couldn't help but don that strange, dark costume again, playing the hero or villain – whichever he happened to be. He felt powerful wearing it, like a part of the night surrounded him, like he was terror incarnate. He pulled the mask down snuggly over his head, blinking as he adjusted to the visor display, and straightened the cowl. The entire costume seemed to be made of a quite sturdy material that fit very snuggly to every inch of his body, responding to his slightest whim as if it sensed his thoughts. He was beginning to realize that even the smallest twitch would set off sensors to one function or another, just like the wrist launchers of those strange, bat-representative weapons. The same worked with the jet boots, launching him off into space at the slightest trigger.

The material itself was thick, and masterfully woven, more deeply armored around his chest and shoulders, as well as about his waist and thighs. He messed with the belt a little as well, finding many interesting looking gadgets stashed in there, not knowing in the slightest what they did. After a while of playing around, he'd been highly amused to find he could turn _invisible_ if he switched the center control on the belt to the correct setting. He also found he could run a current of electricity through the suit, perhaps to shock anyone he couldn't shake off, but that wasn't half as cool as turning freakin' _invisible_!

He had walked around on the streets for some time, avoiding touching people, just watching from his ghostly position. He'd even stolen – despite the fact he didn't want to – a hotdog from a street vendor. The guy had been so freaked out by the floating meat product that he'd bolted, screaming his head off, and Caine had boosted a second one as well. Right now, he sat nonchalantly on a gargoyle some fifty stories high (thanks to his rocket boots), one leg dangling off and swinging in space as he ate, staring out over the neon lights surrounding him. Honestly, this was pretty cool. He still felt guilty about the hotdogs though. If he was a villain, he certainly sucked at it. He didn't want to be one anyway… but he felt like that was what many people had already labeled him. Taking another bite of a biscuit he'd swiped off of the table from breakfast earlier that morning, he leaned out over the horned head of the stone creature he was perched upon, smiling down at the cars trickling along on the streets like ants.

Honestly, he felt like they should've been flying, but he'd become quite used to his strange misconceptions of reality, and ignoring them. Those seeming 'memories' weren't real. They weren't happening. Somehow, he was getting confused, and he needed to sort the dream from the actuality. Stuffing the last bit of biscuit in his mouth, he wiped the crumbs away from his mask with the back of his gloved hand, being quite wary of the sharp, sturdy spikes on the gauntlets. He was amazed that he didn't feel awkward in this clingy, skin-tight outfit; instead, he was completely at ease. It fit him like a second skin. It belonged. The biggest question was, though, what was he supposed to do in it? Certainly not steal hot dogs and sit on gargoyles. There was no doubt in his mind that a lot of money had been invested into the costume, and there weren't many people that could afford something this advanced and attuned to the tiniest of human reflexes. The only person that came to mind at the moment was Wayne. The speculations that the man had been one of the costumed figures in the vault quickly faded, replaced by queries as to why he would be investing so much capital into a suit such as this. It was a distinct possibility, and made more sense of the fact that he'd expended so much energy attempting to catch him for supposed 'breakfast'. It still didn't quite fit, though, since he hadn't shown any signs of knowing who the boy was. If he had been Wayne's employee, and stolen the suit, or been given the suit, he would've figured the guy would have enough decency to know and tell him who he was.

Sighing, Caine lay back against the building, stretching his long legs comfortably out in front of him, also making sure the shoulder bag was secure upon the ledge. His eyes still scanned the rooftops all around, in constant search. Of what, he wasn't sure, but he guessed he'd know when he saw it. The action was instinct, like almost everything else he'd done. He almost felt like he was on some sort of patrol.

About the time his eyelids were beginning to droop, a fluttering shadow caught his eye a few stories down on an adjacent building to his right, and he noticed a figure, clad in a completely black ensemble, stealthily making its way across the tops of buildings.

It was curiosity that drove him off of the gargoyle, that wonder that there was someone else besides the four from the night he'd first come to terms with his haphazard existence. He soared downward on the retractable wings built into the thick, armored Kevlar on his back, moving silently through the night air. He followed the figure – a female – doggedly until her form disappeared completely within the shadows of an air conditioner.

He retracted the wings, and failed his attempted landing, stumbling noisily. That would take a little practice, apparently. For a moment, he simply stood out in the open, which, in hindsight, most likely wasn't the best idea. A hiss came from behind him, and before he knew it, one clawed hand was constricting around his throat, another digging into his shoulder.

"Getting a little sloppy, aren't we Nightwing?" The purring feminine voice asked. Caine barely dared breath, let alone move, but decided to speak.

"I'm not Nightwing." He answered, lapsing comfortably into the deep, guttural voice he'd used the night past. It was beginning to feel more comfortable, and fit the dark persona he was acting at the moment.

The hands loosened a little, if only from surprise. "Really?" The voice was soft and sweet, and unmistakably deceptive – honey trying to cover the flavor of poison. "Then who might you be, Handsome?"

"I can't answer that question." He replied truthfully, wary of the sharp, silver instruments stroking his neck. The woman slipped around him now, taking a position facing him, and keeping a wary hand near his neck. He stood straight and tense, not daring to tempt her. She was, as he had previously observed, dressed head to toe in black leather, but now he could see her unbelievably pale skin, and the stiff, pointed ears accenting the mask she wore. Along with these things was a small satchel on her hip next to a long, snaking whip almost resembling a tail, the way it dragged behind her. She most definitely reminded him of a cat, especially in her graceful, slinking movements that were almost too fluid to be human.

She pointed a free claw at his chest, tracing the red beacon pasted there. "You're with the Bats, though, aren't you? Are you a new recruit perhaps? Too new to have a name yet, Batboy?"

"Bats…?" He mused, confusion clearly written across his face despite the full mask. "No."

The Cat cocked her head interestedly to one side. "You're a rogue, then? Like me, perhaps?"

"And who would you be?" He asked, a tinge of a smile twitching at the edges of his mouth. She was as curious about him as he was about her, but he wouldn't be able to tell her anything. With his memory loss, it wasn't as if he could anyway, despite the fact that he perceived she could most likely be _very _convincing if she pleased. She didn't flaunt her body in a sensual leather costume for nothing.

"Me?" Her delicate hand rested lightly on her collarbone as she addressed herself. "I would be Catwoman." She purred, and leaned in on his strong form, both arms now interlocking over his shoulders and around his neck. He looked down on her, wondering at her aims, but figured this was simply part of her keeping him within her clawed grasp. He was wrong. She leaned in a little farther, fingers twitching restlessly at the edge of his mask, eyes fixated on his. "Quite the handsome young newcomer, aren't you? How about you and I leap the rooftops some time?"

Caine found himself breathless. She was _flirting _with him. His mouth unhinged slightly as she leaned a little closer, the cat-like slits of her eyes narrow and seductive. One hand came forward to stroke the side of his face. Did she have any clue how old he was? How old was she? This probably wasn't very appropriate. But despite his misgivings, she continued to press closer. "Maybe even…"

"Somehow, I should've known." Both Caine and Catwoman whipped their heads around as Nightwing descended, utilizing the gliders that controlled his fall. Caine's jaw tightened. This was the guy that had _really_ shown disdain towards him in the vault. With a shove, Catwoman broke away from him, sprinting to the edge of the rooftop with great, graceful strides. Unfortunately, Nightwing was faster. Caine ducked as the masked vigilante tossed a skillfully aimed bola, an interconnected array of cords with spherical, weighted ends, which wrapped itself tightly around the fleeing female, and sent her crashing to the surface of the roof. She hissed in contempt towards the man as the small beige satchel broke away from her hip, skidding away across the surface she lay on.

The black and red clad stranger wouldn't be so easily displaced, though. He broke away, stepping out of Nightwing's range as a dangerous swinging kick was aimed at his already bruised and battered skull. For a moment, his adversary stepped back, sizing him up derisively. "Something told me you were bad news, and here I find you consorting with criminals."

Caine glanced to Catwoman, who smirked, shrugging awkwardly from her position on the ground. "Guilty as charged." She mewed.

Of course. Such would be his luck, that the moment this Nightwing character found him again, he would be consorting with criminals he had no idea were criminals. "You don't understand…" Caine began, raising his hands in defense, but Nightwing wouldn't hear of it.

"You almost killed my friend the other night, you know." He spat, advancing, while pulling a blue edged, switchblade style birdarang from his belt. Caine's eyes narrowed behind the mask's lenses, recognizing a weapon similar to the projectiles in his own wrist launchers. This man seemed to have no such technology, but the muscles plainly rippling from beneath the slim fitting fabric of his costume attested to his skill. Here, technology was unnecessary – Nightwing was perfectly capable of caring for himself without such aid.

"Back off." Caine answered menacingly, taking another step, but Nightwing paid no mind.

"You're going in with your cohort over there." He hissed, motioning to Catwoman.

Caine stiffened. "I'm not going _anywhere_!"

The birdarang flew.

The fight was on.

The slim man with the blue logo moved much faster than Caine would've first deemed possible. It was as if the weapon hit at the same time the roundhouse kick came for his face. The confused teenager stumbled backward in a daze; ducking and scrambling out of the way like a meaningless scuttle bug. How the heck was he supposed to defend himself against skill like this?

Nightwing was on the fallen boy in an instant, twisting his arms behind his back painfully. The nerves along his arms, shoulders and back screamed in protest, and he gritted his teeth to avoid an undignified cry of pain. As Nightwing wrenched his arms up mercilessly, something in the back of his mind clicked in accordance to situations like this, and he responded accordingly.

Straining against Nightwing's grip, he felt the suit come to his aid, adding that extra bit of strength to help him break free. Quickly, he turned over onto his stomach, rolling his back and using the momentum to gain footing again, slipping into a low, wide stance that surprised his trained adversary. Nightwing paused for a moment, startled at the simple, crude stand that this stranger took. He was a street fighter. It was then that the acrobat knew two things – one, that this boy knew his way around several defensive and offensive styles, and even though he may not be able to perform them all, he'd know how to counteract them. The second was that he would fight dirty. Street fighters always did what was necessary to win, no matter the indignity – they didn't follow the rules or fight fair. Dick would have to expect the unexpected from this guy, and defend against it.

The train of thought was instantaneous, and his reaction came a split second later. There was no way he was going to let a novice street punk best him. If he hit hard and fast with no mercy, the boy wouldn't have a chance in the world.

Caine pulled his arms down over his abdomen as the experienced vigilante went for a hard uppercut, but he found himself to slow, and yet again, he was sprawled out on the concrete, scrambling to get away from the acrobat. He needed to remember something. He could fight. He knew he could… the way that stance had felt so natural…

Some part of him had been trained, if only slightly, and he just needed to pull it out of the recesses of his mind and bring it to fruition. Taking a deep breath, he opened his senses, closed his eyes, and listened. The breath of wind passing around a body cued him to his opponent's next move, and he ducked the artful slice at his temple, diving low and plowing into Nightwing's stomach. With a grunt, the man pulled his knee into Caine's abdomen, and he doubled over for a moment, rolling as the blue and black clad vigilante sought to bring a heel down between his shoulder blades.

Now Nightwing was really bringing it on, and it was all Caine could do to keep his face and body from becoming even more bruised than it already was. He gasped, ducking and dodging like a hyperactive dragonfly as his adversary struck out with a series of palm thrusts, followed by a rather artful round of kicks, and various other moves that he could barely see, let alone identify. If it hadn't been for the suit, he would've been a mashed potato by now.

Gasping for breath, he tried to plead for mercy. "Hey, really, you've got it all wrong…"

Nightwing brought a firm cut down on a pressure point near his neck, and Caine's eyesight momentarily blacked out as he crumpled to the ground, groaning. He felt that crushing blow between his shoulder blades that had missed before, and found himself face first in concrete, his spine crying for mercy as his arms once again were fastened tightly behind him.

"Do I?" Nightwing hissed, his knee firmly planted in the stranger's lower back. "You were in a bank vault, tried to kill my friend and consorted with a well known thief. I think I know perfectly well what you are, if not who."

Caine clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to point out snidely that even _he _didn't know who he was, let alone what. "I wasn't trying to rob or kill anyone. And I didn't know who that Catwoman was until just now! You have to believe me!" Straining as hard as possible, he wrenched his arms free for the second time, his muscles screaming for mercy, but not receiving any. They were on fire, and his breath was burning in his throat, but he didn't let up. Turning over he jerked his knee up into Nightwing's crotch, shoving the temporarily immobilized man away and climbing to his feet. Leaping of the rooftop, he extended his glider wings, not even daring to look back and see if his attacker had followed. Undoubtedly he would.

Rolling on the next rooftop to avoid severe shock to his legs, he sprinted forward, too late, as Nightwing tackled him from behind. He heard it before he felt it, but the shock was still evident as two strong feet plowed into his back, flattening him to the ground, yet again. He rolled over before Nightwing could pin him yet a third time, and found a fist in the face to be his reward. He grabbed the next flying punch, biceps straining to contain the fury of the attack that was being sent in his direction. He swore he heard something in his wrist snap. Caine's free hand snaked out to grab Nightwing's other wrist, and for a moment, the two were locked in a stalemate.

Nightwing pressed forward, but found the strangers grip incredibly – and quite unexpectedly – iron clad. He remembered the face from the vault. The boy couldn't have been more than eighteen. How the heck was he this damn powerful? In a last ditch effort Caine brought his feet up under Nightwing, shoving him off with all his strength. The vigilante executed an extremely gracefully backhand spring, recovering his balance on the balls of his feet while resting forward on his fingertips.

Caine was beginning to sag. His body was screaming for a rest. He hadn't had a fight like this in quite a while. Wait. When had he ever had a fight like this…? For a moment, he caught a glimpse of teenagers dressed as clowns, and a man… a man with translucent neon green skin, his skeleton showing through… glowing like a freaking night-light…

The next thing he knew, Nightwing's foot was in his face again. Caine stumbled backward, coming back to reality with a jolt, and realizing he was still in _this _fight. The past was irrelevant at the moment. The birdarangs came without warning, slicing through the air like propellers. Despite his amazingly honed reflexes, he found one slicing through the skin of his left shoulder, and he fell into a crouch, hissing as blood began to seep out of the deep gash.

His breathing came a little harder now, and he watched intrepidly, with cold eyes, as Nightwing approached, much more reserved. He still held a projectile weapon in his right hand, but looked down upon the black clad stranger with superiority. "Had enough yet, punk, or do I get to take you by force?"

Caine shifted his weight in this crouched position, carefully considering his options. He had no doubt this 'Nightwing' had him bested, hands down, as long as he couldn't properly remember how to fight. So what was he going to do about it while trying to avoid jail? Maybe if he got in a cheap shot like the one before, he could…

"STOP!"

Caine was on his feet in an instant as a second dark figure descended, the caped black and grey man from the vault. He was taller, and much bulkier than the slim and acrobatic Nightwing, but was just as, if not more, graceful than his counterpart. Nightwing didn't drop his offensive posture, very well considering taking the intruder down despite Batman's intrusion, until Tim came down as well, taking a stance between Nightwing and his opponent.

Caine took a step back, eyeing them all suspiciously, but Nightwing eased his combative posture. "What's going on?" He demanded bitterly. "I'm handling this."

"Caine isn't a danger to anybody."

Both Nightwing and the black and red costumed figure stared at him with wide eyes. "Caine?" Nightwing growled, at the same time that the boy stuttered out an almost incomprehensive, "H-how did you know…?"

Batman looked between the two fighters, taking in the damage. Nightwing was undoubtedly the cleaner of the two, considering that Caine had a deep gash in his shoulder, hidden beneath the gloved hand that was clutching it. The flow of blood still trickled from between his fingers, though, and Batman could imagine he'd have several more bruises judging by what little of the fight he'd seen. Nightwing was probably out a few children though. Bruce restrained a smirk. Caine had really surprised him there. That had been a low blow, but quite clever. If he'd been a little more active in his escape, he might've flown the coop before Nightwing had bested the pain and tackled him.

The small colorfully dressed boy in front of him stepped out from between the two adversaries, quite confident that they wouldn't be ripping each other's heads off any more. He turned to Caine briefly. "Hey." He smiled, a gesture that confused and warmed him at the same time. "I'm Robin."

"…Hey…?" Caine cocked his head curiously to one side; wary of the hospitality he now seemed to be receiving.

Nightwing scowled bitterly. "Does someone want to clue me in on the little secret that doesn't make him my enemy? Or do you prefer to leave me in the dark?"

Caine also turned his expectant attention upon the bulky, dark-clad man, who stared back at him. "Please." He added sarcastically. "If you know anything about me, I'd like to know as well. Hell knows I'm as much in the dark as bird brain, here."

"Hey!" Nightwing snarled, pressing forward again, and bumping Robin's shoulder. The boy wonder cried out in dismay, pulling back at Nightwing with an impatient hand. The older, retired Robin paid him no mind. "You're in no position to be throwing insults…"

"Batman."

"Huh?" Both Nightwing and Caine whipped their heads around to stare at him in disbelief. The soulless white eyes were as cold and serious as ever, and in the slight night breeze, the cape fell forward over his strong, statuesque shoulders, consuming his well-built features. Without explanation, he simply repeated himself.

"This boy here…" he didn't have to gesture to show he was talking about the one he'd so obviously called 'Caine'. "…Is Batman."

From somewhere above, a leather clad female looked down upon the quartet of costumed heroes with ill-contained curiosity. She examined her claws absentmindedly, glancing haughtily to the rope that had only moments ago contained her. Nightwing should've known better that to simply leave her to her own devices, tied up with simple cord. Turning her attention back to the conversation happening below, her lips twitched into a satisfied smirk.

The saying was the curiosity killed the cat, but then, this was too interesting of a tidbit to pass up. The newcomer was a second Batman? She stood, caressing the satchel of small, jade lioness figures at her hip, praying desperately that none of them had shattered in their flight from her side. Blinking down at the four figures once more, she slipped away into the shadows to consider her newly acquired knowledge.


End file.
